


These Broken Moons

by terianoen



Series: Of Werewolves [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Developing Relationship, Distrust, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Hurt Harry, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Lucius and Severus are not a background couple, M/M, Past Child Abuse, Recovery, Self-Harm, Trust Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-17
Updated: 2019-06-24
Packaged: 2020-05-13 16:34:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 19
Words: 52,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19254997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/terianoen/pseuds/terianoen
Summary: After Lucius’ horrible mistake in The Department of Mysteries, The Dark Lord demands too much of the Malfoys. They turn traitor against him, however, Voldemort sends Fenrir Greyback after them and Draco Malfoy, pure blood wonder and pride of his family is bitten and turned into a werewolf at the age of 16. Now, they have nowhere to turn to but his nemesis and enemies. Strange that Harry Potter, pride and joy of the Order of the Phoenix is nothing like the Golden Hero advertised.





	1. Disaster Struck

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [[授翻]These Broken Moons 破碎之月](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20663633) by [riminal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/riminal/pseuds/riminal)



> There really isn't very graphic depiction of rape in this story, and nothing untoward happens between Draco and Harry. However, there is flashbacks of everything that has happened to Harry over the years. Harry is pretty OOC, dark, and depressed.This story starts in 6th year.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this story, Harry is very OOC, dark, and depressed. This story starts in 6th year. Lucius and Severus are not a side pairing. Yes, Harry and Draco are the main pairing, but there will still be lots of time between Lucius and Severus. 
> 
> The flashbacks are intense, if you are triggered by sexual, child, psychological abuse be wary of the marked chapters. Also, the romance is definitely there, but it's slow moving. Everyone dealing with a lot of issues they need to work through. Includes an incomplete sequel titled These Blooming Hearts.

"Yes, of course, Mother," Draco answered, bowing slightly to his mother. She nodded before turning back to the mess of clothes and papers strewn in front of her. Draco stepped away, he knew better than to interrupt after she had dismissed him like that. He stepped out of his mother's study and headed down the hall toward his room, hoping he made it before-

"Draco," his father's voice sounded behind him. Draco immediately stopped, restraining the urge to bite his lip. He knew once he started there would be blood and his parents hated when he drew blood with his nervous habits. Blood was much too precious to be wasted on such idle things.

"Yes, father?" Draco turned, facing his father with the expected blank expression. He tried to ignore the lines on his father's face, but he knew he didn't succeed. They marked his father, the same way The Dark Mark on his arm marked him. He had gotten out of Azkaban on a technicality, mostly because Potter had seemed unwilling to show up and really identify Draco's father as being at the ministry. The Dark Lord, however, had not been so forgiving. He had punished Lucius for failing him with all the creative torture skills he had at his disposal.

"What did your mother wish of you?" his father asked, and Draco resisted the temptation to roll his eyes. He would never understand why his parents had to communicate through him as if they weren't a married couple.

"She-," he started when suddenly his father hissed, clutching his arm in pain. "Father?"

"The Dark Lord is almost here," he answered, straightening his shoulders. "We must hurry."

"But-."

"Go, Draco."

"Lucius?" his mother poked her head out of her study, fixing her pale eyes on them. "What's going on?"

"Narcissa," Lucius nodded to her. "The Dark Lord is near. You and Draco must leave immediately,” Narcissa opened her mouth, but Lucius was already talking again, “I will sort out the rest of our affairs.”

"Father," Draco stepped forward, but his father simply held up a hand, and he immediately fell silent.

"Come, Draco," Narcissa snatched Draco by the arm and dragged him down hall, refusing to look back at his father. Draco closed his eyes as he stumbled after her. He knew he couldn't disobey a direct order from his father, but it simply felt wrong to just leave him there for The Dark Lord to come and snatch up.

They reached the front door a second before it exploded open, and something slammed into Draco, ripping him away from his mother and sending him slamming into the ground. His vision blurred, his ears were ringing, and something hot and wet was ripping into his throat. The mind-numbing pain began a second later. So intense Draco almost passed out from the burning stinging horrible feeling of being ripped apart by the throat.

He flinched when a scream broke through the ringing in his ears. It took him a second to realize it was his own. His voice was hoarse as the sound burned its way out of his torn windpipe. He tried to peel his eyes open to find out what was happening to him. What was opening his throat and letting blood run down his chest and onto the ground under him?

"NOOOO!" He heard a strangled yell behind him and suddenly the weight he hadn't even realized was there was wrenched off. Draco gasped, feeling the blood bubble up and then back down, clogging his throat and making it near impossible to breathe.

The last thought Draco had before passing out was that he hoped his father would come soon, because Narcissa had never been good at healing charms.

* * *

Harry Potter just so happened to be in Dumbledore's office when Lucius Malfoy came stumbling in carrying an unconscious and half-dead Draco Malfoy. Dumbledore only ever left him at the Dursley's as long as utterly necessary for the blood protection to work.

Harry supposed that Dumbledore was afraid he'd curse them, and he probably would at that. Dumbledore also refused to allow him to stay with the Weasley's, claiming that Harry needed all the studying he could get. Though why he thought Harry gave two cents what Dumbledore thought of his education, he had no idea.

So, Dumbledore had him in his office, trying desperately to get him to care about whatever nonsense he was talking about now while Harry twirled his wand between his fingers. He had one leg swung over the arm of Dumbledore's chair, swinging back and forth while the other was planted solidly on the ground to keep him from falling over.

Then the floo suddenly flared and Lucius Malfoy stepped through, cradling his son in his arms. Draco was pale to the point of looking dead with his throat a bloody mess. Harry raised an eyebrow at them, momentarily interested before Lucius turned to Dumbledore with a slightly desperate air that was entirely too predictable. And Harry sighed, going back to twirling his wand between his fingers.

"Mr. Malfoy," Dumbledore stood abruptly, his eyes widening with a combination of surprise and horror on his face. And sure, Harry would have stood, he would have cooed over the poor broken Malfoys if he didn’t suspect that Dumbledore was about to do a good enough job without him.

"My wife is dead, Dumbledore," Lucius said, his voice clear, free of emotion. Harry looked up, his attention caught. Not by the words but the way they were spoken. He smirked, not the usual way one reacted to one's wife dying. "And my son has been bitten by Fenrir Greyback."

"I see." Dumbledore answered. "Harry, go fetch Professor Snape while we take Draco to the medical wing."

"Must I?"

"Yes," Dumbledore ground out and Harry could tell his patience was wearing thin. Harry sighed again, climbing to his feet in a gracefully motion before crossing to the door. "Please hurry, Harry," Dumbledore called. Harry scowled but made no other reply as he retreated from the room.

He headed down to the dungeon about as quickly as his pride allowed. Mostly, he hurried because he knew Severus would have his arse if he slowed enough that Draco Malfoy actually died. For, Severus cared about the Malfoy's even if Harry didn't.

"Severus?" Harry called, shoving the door open without bothering to knock. It was empty, making Harry narrow his eyes at the room. Severus wasn’t actually out, was he?

"What is it, Potter?" Severus voice rose from his back room a second before he did. Harry’s face promptly smoothed as the disgruntled Professor moved to stand in front of him, looking impatient. He must have been brewing something; Severus smelled of dirt and roots, his hair full of oddly smelling smoke.

"Dumbledore wants you."

"For what purpose?"

"Draco Malfoy is dying of a werewolf bite in the infirmary." Harry told him casually, and Severus's eyes bulged as only his could, cold steely anger flashing in them.

"You little…" Severus took a step forward and Harry flinched on impulse, his body expecting a hit that his mind consciously knew wasn’t coming. Severus immediately relaxed his aggressive position, sighing and rubbing his face before barking out another order. "Grab my bag," he ordered, sweeping out of the room. Harry ran into Severus's office, scooped up his bag of healing potions, and chased after the Professor.

He was already around the corner and halfway down the next hall by the time Harry caught up to him. Severus didn't even slow down his pace, just flicked his eyes and continued his long-legged walk. Harry felt his muscles unconsciously relax, so Severus wasn’t going to say anything then. That was always better than when they tried to talk, which invariably ended in screaming, throwing things, and finally tears. Harry hated it when that happened. He hated it when his emotions took over and it was really just best for everyone to avoid that as much as possible. They reached the infirmary faster than Harry reached anything when he wasn't with Severus. He stormed in, flapping his robes and stooping over Draco's bed to examine him.

"Potter, cast a cleansing spell." Severus snapped, gesturing to Harry before turning to his bag and pulling out a couple of potions. Harry bent over Draco, examining the wound as he cast his cleansing spell with a quick flick of his wrist. Then he stepped to the side and let Severus begin his work. When it was clear the Professor was immersed in his work of potions and healing, Harry stepped out of the room. He closed the doors to the infirmary softly before allowing his feet to take him to one of only places he felt truly safe.

It took Severus hours to return to his own chambers, covered in sweat with exhausted lines around his eyes. Harry was perched on his couch, his knees drawn up to his chest and his arms tight around his torso, ready for the scolding to begin.

"So, I take it he'll live?"

"No thanks to you." Severus answered, dropping his potions bag onto the floor couch and beginning to unbutton his outer robes. "I could have used your help. Why did you leave?" Harry turned his face away instead of answering, barely concealing the annoyed twist of his lips. He’d of thought Severus was smarter than to ask questions to which he already knew the answer to. "Harry," Severus said, his voice dragging Harry's eyes back up to his face. "Draco doesn't deserve your scorn."

"Really? And why not? What has he ever done for me? Mounted on his pureblood perch with his perfect pureblood family?" Severus just sat himself down beside Harry with a sigh.

"You can't hate the world."

"And why not? You do."

"And I'm so happy with my life," Snape answered, and it was Harry's turn to sigh because he really didn't have an answer to that.


	2. What the Future Holds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry thinks about the past and needs a break.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: psychological and physical child abuse.

Severus lifted Harry's limp form off the couch and carried him easily to his bed. The boy still never ate enough. Severus used to try to force nutrition potions down his throat, but after the fourth panic attack, he'd given up on even that. Harry stirred restlessly, muttering under his breath something that sounded like Dursley. He just sighed, pulling the covers up and over Harry's frame, leaving his feet uncovered to give him the illusion of being able to escape easily.

With a flick of his wand, he left a note on the bedside table saying he'd be at the infirmary before he slipped back out of his private chambers. He’d really only come to make sure the boy went to sleep; most nights Harry wouldn’t even bother to close his eyes unless there was someone else there.

Lucius was waiting for him when he arrived at the infirmary. His long platinum blonde hair hanging loose around his face in that way Narcissa had always despised though Severus couldn't ever help but admire. He roughly shoved away the emotion before it could show in his eyes and focused on Lucius. His face was tight with worry, the lines around his face more prominent than the last time Severus had seen him. He winced internally when he thought of what exactly The Dark Lord had done to Lucius because of his failure. When Severus thought of what he could have done to prevent it.

"When will he wake?" Lucius asked, his pale eyes landing on Severus with all the emotion of ice.

"Not till morning at least."

"Why is Potter here?"

"Dumbledore prefers to keep him close," he answered. Lucius raised one pale eyebrow and he knew it was safer to change the subject than face those knowing eyes. "What happened?"

"Why does it matter?" Lucius answered, turning his face away as if to study the plated glass of a nearby window. "Narcissa is dead and Draco is…" He trailed off, clearing his throat after a moment as if that had been his intention all along.

"Why did The Dark Lord come after you?" Severus insisted. "I never assumed you would turn against him."

"No, I try to leave the heroics up to you" Lucius chuckled humorlessly then sighed. "He wanted Draco to become a Death Eater. He wanted him to enter the school and attempt to kill Dumbledore himself," Lucius' gaze flipped back to meet Severus'. "I may have been a terrible person in the past, Severus, but I refuse to contemn my son to death because of my failures," Lucius chuckled again, and it was rimmed with the edge of hysteria this time. "Though I seem to have fated him to something worse than death."

"And Narcissa?"

"I'm not sure,” Lucius’ eyes flickered, and Severus knew he was lying though he said nothing as Lucius continued. “By the time I was downstairs, Greyback and Narcissa were both dead and Draco was laying on the floor like-," Lucius stopped suddenly, turning fully away from Severus as if he couldn't bear the thought of anyone looking on him in his moment of weakness.

Severus' hand itched to rise and touch him. He wished he could say something, anything that would make Lucius feel better. But Severus had never been good at comforting and Lucius had never been good at being comforting. Besides, Lucius didn’t want his comfort, that much was obvious in the way he turned his face away, in the way he lied when he could have told the truth—if he trusted Severus. So, he did what he always did, Severus ignored Lucius' pain and refused to feel regret about what they could have been.

"I should check on Draco," he said.

"Yes, of course," Lucius answered, stepping aside to let Severus into the infirmary. He swept in, heading for Draco's bed with Lucius on his heels. Draco was on his back, the blood-stained clothes he'd arrived in gone, replaced by a crisp white button up and slacks. His throat was covered in thick white bandages extending partway down his chest.

Greyback had ripped into Draco's chest and throat. The cuts across his chest were deep, and though he would carry the scars with him the rest of his life, they were relatively mild. It was the wound along his neck that was truly concerning to Severus. The wound in and of itself wasn't terrible--there wouldn't be any lasting damage aside from the scaring--it was the fact that Greyback had been transformed when he had bitten Draco. It was a full moon, and Fenrir Greyback hadn't just bitten Draco once but multiple times. Draco didn't stand a chance; he would transform on the next full moon.

* * *

He was about 10 years-old. Though he could never be exactly sure of his age since the Dursley's refused to tell him when his birthday was. They said it was need to know and the only things he needed to know were how to cook them food and clean their floors. By that time, he'd given up asking about his parents too. He'd get a different answer every time he asked. If Petunia was in a good mood, she'd tell him they'd died in a car crash or a plane accident or something equally mundane. If she was in a bad mood, she'd screech at him to get back to work. While Vernon almost always told him, his parents had dropped dead because of his freakishness.

He didn't have much of an argument against the verbal abuse the Dursleys continually threw at him. He was freakish, as the other children in his school made a habit of informing him. His only true friends were the garden snakes around the house. He'd learned he could speak to snakes when he was probably 5. It had been after Vernon had slapped him across the face, leaving a large red print and sending him to the floor. That had been the first time Vernon had hit him, but it had been far from the last.

He had run out to the garden, tears in his eyes but somehow refusing to let them fall down his face. He knew how Vernon and Petunia hated it when he cried. Then something had slithered over his foot, making him jump and look down at the snake twisting itself around his leg.

"What are you doing?" He had asked and for some reason, hadn't been surprised when it had answered back.

Years later, Petunia had been horror struck when she realized he was talking to the snakes in her garden. That had been his first real beating. Vernon had dragged him upstairs to Dudley's playroom by his hair, probably hoping to elicit some sound of pain from him, though he refused to oblige him in such a way. Then Vernon had punched him once, sending him to the floor before proceeding to kick him. He remembered passing out halfway through and then waking up with bandages wrapped around his torso and voices in the kitchen.

"Did you have to be so rough," Petunia'd been gripping. "Now we won't get any use out of him for a while." He'd turned his head into the pillow, muffling Vernon's reply. He had been about 8 years-old, and he'd known more about cooking, cleaning, and talking to snakes then he knew about math, making friends, and playing with toys, but he couldn't help thinking it was worth it in the end. At least he knew what it was like to have a real friend. At least he knew this wasn't the way life was supposed to be lived.

Now he was almost 11. He had to be, he could feel the change in his bones. He wasn't exactly sure what it meant but he knew that something was coming.

As if on que, the letter addressed to him slipped through the mail slot and dropped in front of him. For the first time in his life, he felt hope soar through him.

* * *

Harry woke with a twist of his lips and a flutter of his eyes, trying desperately not to remember his dream. Sometimes they weren't too bad and then sometimes they were Earth shattering. Finally, he managed to open his eyes into Severus' dimly lit private rooms. Severus was gone, which didn't necessarily surprise him. Unless Harry was screaming in his sleep these days, Severus didn't usually stay.

He spotted the note in the next second and then dismissed it from his mind. He wasn't about to go to the infirmary, not unless Severus really needed him. He sighed, flipping the covers off himself. Nor was he going back to sleep however. He needed a shower and a change of clothes, which meant trekking up to Gryffindor tower. Technically, where he was supposed to be staying anyway.

Harry flicked his wand to edit the message on Severus' bedside to tell him where to find Harry before leaving. Severus pretended stoicism, but he'd thrown one too many fits about Harry disappearing without a word for it to be believable. Harry crossed the dungeon and started up the stairs. He'd just left the dungeons when the voice sounded from behind him. He'd been steadily ignoring the portrait's complaining, refusing to put out his light as he plotted down the endless hallways and up the moving stairways. He would have doused his wand, though, if he'd known anyone else was patrolling tonight.

"Potter," McGonagall's voice sounded from behind him. "What are you doing up this time of night?"

"Couldn't sleep," He answered, not bothering to turn. Maybe if he didn't really acknowledge her, she'd let him leave faster.

"Potter," McGonagall's voice rang with annoyance. "Look at me when you speak, please." He sighed but did as asked.

"Of course, Professor." He said. Her lips pressed together, but she didn't say anything about his obvious sarcasm.

"Severus didn't stay with you tonight?" She asked. "I've heard what happened to the Malfoys."

"Yes, tragic." Harry answered automatically, and McGonagall's lips tightened even further.

"Come have a cup of tea with me," she ordered. "Perhaps it will help you sleep," he didn't answer as she led the way up the stairs and into her office, gesturing him into the chair across from her desk. "Sugar?" she asked, hovering over the teapot in the corner.

"I have no preference."

"Very well," she sighed, pouring two cups of tea and handing one to him. He immediately set his down on the edge of her desk and locked his hands together in his lap. She sighed again but just sat across from him, her own tea steaming in her hands. "Did you see Draco?"

"Yes."

"And how did he look?"

"Bad," he said, pulling his hands apart and then back together again and wishing she'd just let him leave. If he really wanted to know about Draco Malfoy, he was hardly the right person to be asking. She obviously wanted him here for something else. But then that was always the way, wasn’t it? People pretended friendliness when they really just wanted something.

"Does Severus know if the boy will turn yet?"

"No." There was a beat and Harry realized he'd answered too quickly. But he really didn't know the answer to her question.

"Harry, relax." McGonagall said, eyeing him warily. He started like a frightened animal and then made a show of relaxing the tension from his shoulders. This always made people believe he was comfortable in their presence even though it was nothing more than a guise. The only one who had ever seen through the trick had been Severus.

"...suppose you've avoided the infirmary completely." McGonagall was saying. Harry just looked at her, twirling his hands together. "Ah, well, I don't blame you," she continued when it was clear he wouldn't answer what wasn't a question. "And how have you been?"

“Fine.”

"Oh, and how comes your Animagus transformations?"

"Fine."

"Harry," she scolded. "It's in your best interest to tell me of your studies."

"I'm still studying my form." He answered, clenching his jaw against the insults he could hurl her way. It was never in his best interest to ask someone else for help. "There's really nothing else to say." The only person who had been tested and not been found wanting was Severus and Harry didn't even trust him with all his secrets.

"Very well," she sighed for what felt like the hundredth time. "Perhaps you should try and sleep for a few more hours." He stood without a word, wanting to run from her office but knowing what Severus would say to that. Once the door to her office was shut, he took off down the hallway, heading straight across instead of up to Gryffindor tower. He needed to be able to breathe, away from the confining walls and judgmental portraits that left him feeling bottled up and lost inside.

He shoved open the doors of the great hall, feeling satisfied at the loud bang that sounded as he ran through them and out into the open air. Taking the night air in through one deep lungful after another, he sprinted across the grounds of Hogwarts and crossed into the Forbidden Forest without hesitation.

By the time, his feet would have been tripping over root and vines would have been reaching down to snatch at him, he was on all fours. His body became shorter with more coiled muscles and a sleeker, thicker hide. His four large paws collided with the ground and sent him springing into the air. He dug his claws into a nearby tree and hefted himself onto the branch, letting out a single loud screech to tell everyone else this area was occupied before he turned carefully in a circle and began to lounge on his tree branch.

It was always better in his Animagus form. He felt freer, calmer. He still had to watch for just as many threats from the world but at least they weren't cloaked in illusions of friendship. He supposed he should have told Severus when he'd managed to transform the first time, but he had just wanted to keep the information to himself. He yawned, his short bob-like tail wobbling dangerously. This was a secret not even Severus knew. And he didn't trust anyone not to ruin the little peace he could find the world.


	3. Waking Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco gets some bad news.

To him, Hogwarts was an indescribably wonder. No one beat him, no one asked him to clean, or make them breakfast. They just showed him how to do amazing things without calling him "freak" or "weirdo" for doing them.

However, underneath all the glitter and guise, it was also a horrible burden. He had never  _wanted_ to be looked at. He wasn't special, or handsome, or talented, so why did everyone treat him as if he was their savor?They were completely off their rockers.

And deep down he knew no one would treat him the same if his name wasn't Harry Potter.

And so, he befriended Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger ,and he gallivanted around the school, pretending like he was comfortable. Pretending like he didn't see through the façade of half the people who talked to him. Because really, being liked for his name was better than being hated for his face.

There were exceptions to the rules, however. The Slytherins hated him, no matter how hard he tried, they would sneer and turn their backs on him. Severus Snape especially was no fan of the name Harry Potter. He picked on him in class, in the hall, took off points without reason, and always made a point of telling him just how useless he really was.

It fascinated him. He knew other people wanted to spit at his feet, but they didn’t—even Draco Malfoy had asked for his hand of friendship before scorning him. The fact that Professor Snape actually did made him feel like there was something of reality in the stones of Hogwarts. Though it wasn't until the end of the year that he learned just how deep the deception at Hogwarts ran.

He had just saved The Sorcerer's Stone. Well, it hadn't even been him. He hadn't wanted to go, Hermione and Ron had dragged him along, telling how bloody important the thing was. Apparently, they had been researching Nicolas Flamel behind his back—even though he'd said he wanted nothing to do with it. So, there he was, laying in an infirmary bed with a broken arm and he was sure a couple broken ribs but that was nothing compared to the pain in his head. He wasn't sure how he'd kept himself conscious; he'd just known he couldn't fall asleep, not with the walls barring down and Professor Quirrell’s eyes staring accusingly at him.

That was how Professor Snape had found him. Standing motionless over Professor Quirrell's body with his eyes wide and blank.

"What are you doing, boy?" Snape had snapped. He had had no answer. There  _was_ no answer. Snape had taken a step toward him, raising his wand, and he'd instinctively shied away, expecting the hit.

He was going to be punished for this, he just knew it. He was a freak before, and now he was something else, a misfit, a maniac, a _murderer_. He hiccupped, clutching his throbbing ribs, and wishing he'd never followed Hermione and Ron down here. They were going to-

"Potter," Professor Snape's voice had broken through his thoughts, bringing him back to the present. And he realized he was crying like a child, curling in on himself as if he really expected Professor Snape to hit him. He flushed and tried to step away but had to bite his lip to hold back the cry of pain. Professor Snape sighed and gestured to the door. He hesitated but Professor Snape just continued to watch him as he made his way out of the tunnels and up to the third floor corridor. He watched for Hermione and Ron, but someone must have already taken them, because he saw no sign of them as he passed through the tests with Professor Snape behind him.

He was surprised at how gentle the man was. It was almost as if he was a different person. Normally, he had to be so careful around people, not to flinch, not to draw away from contact, not to shy away from sudden movements and loud noises but with Professor Snape it was suddenly different. It was almost as if Professor Snape knew exactly what would set him off and was making an effort to avoid it, though he couldn't for the life of him understand why.

However, once they reached the Infirmary, that ended. Madam Pomfrey swooped down on him, clutching and clucking as if her personal goal was to deafen and blind him. Hermione was there too, standing slightly back and asking endless questions as if he was in any condition to understand what she was saying. Somehow, he found himself with his hands clamped down on Professor Snape's robes and standing so close that Madam Pomfrey had to pry him away from the man.

She'd healed his ribs and arms easily but there was no cure for the pain in his head. Ron and Hermione had made it to the infirmary about half an hour before Harry had arrived. Ron was in the bed next to his, and Harry kept hoping Hermione would understand his silent hint to not come near him.

Finally, Dumbledore arrived, almost appearing in the infirmary as if he'd been there all along. Though Professor Snape just made an impatient gesture shooing him around the door and out. He blinked after them, wanting to know what had happened. What had happened to Professor Quirrell? Had he, had he really…?

He pushed the sheets off himself, wobbling slightly as he got to his feet and then hesitated. He  _shouldn't_ eavesdrop, if they caught him…

But he was  _already_ in for it. And this was _his_ future they were talking about. He  _had_ to know. He looked over at Madam Pomfrey; she was busy in conversation with Hermione while tending Ron's wounds. He had time. He crept across the room, stopping just inside the infirmary door and listening for the sound of voices.

"....saw the evidence for myself," Professor Snape answered, his tone brisk with annoyance.

"Severus," Professor Dumbledore sighed. "I understand your concern-."

"I don't think you do, Dumbledore." Professor Snape hissed. "If you did, you'd  _do_ something about it."

"Severus-."

"He's a child for Merlin's sake. You cannot leave him with those people—people who beat him! _I will not allow it!"_ Professor Snape answered, and he gasped. They knew. They knew what The Dursleys had been doing to him. They were going to take him away from them, they were going to-

"We cannot take him away from them," Professor Dumbledore answered and his heart sank. What a fool he was. "You know, the boy needs the blood wards."

"I cannot believe you would…." Professor Snape started, but he was already heading toward his bed. They would never take him away from the Dursleys. As long as he was The Boy Who Lived, that was all he was really worth to them.

The door slammed open with a bang, and Professor Snape swept in, his face set in harsh lines of anger and retribution. Professor Snape stopped before his bed, taking a minute to study his face.

"Your progress this year is atrocious." Professor Snape said, and he blinked. "Due to this, I will be accompanying you home this summer and giving you extra lessons." Professor Snape narrowed his eyes as his whole face lit up. "Make no mistake, this will be a hard summer for you, Potter." He nodded vigorously, though he didn't really mean it. Professor Snape didn't have a clue what his summers were really like. "Good, I'll send the letters to your… family," Professor Snape's lip curled over the word and he thought maybe, just maybe he was worth more than just a name to someone after all.

__________________________________________

Draco woke to pain and fire. The pain was in his chest and throat, but it was subdued as if someone had cast pain charms and they were wearing off. The fire, however, was in his entire body, making him feel achy and sore. He moved his head and wanted to scream as the fire burned through him and then began to diminish slowly, burning itself down and out of his body.

"Mother," he croaked, wincing as the sound ripped its way through his battered throat.

"Draco," a voice said, and he tried to open his eyes, hissing as the light stabbed him through the iris'. That  _wasn't_ his mother's voice.

"Father?" He tried again. "Wha… what's-."

"Draco, don't speak yet," the voice said. "I need to give you a potion for your throat." There was a sound as if someone had risen and Draco peeled his eyelids back, determined to know what was going on. "By Merlin," the voice complained. "Where is that boy?"

"Severus?" Draco asked, grimacing as he turned his head to study the potions master. Severus was standing about a foot away from Draco, rummaging around in his bag and cursing under his breath at some 'bloody boy.' Draco tilted his head a little further back, getting a good look at the infirmary around him. So, they had made it to Hogwarts. He lifted his hand off the bed, about to feel for his neck when Severus' voice interrupted him again.

"Don't touch it," Severus snapped, not even turning to look at him.

"Severus?" A new voice caught Draco's attention. He swiveled his head around, focusing on the long blonde hair and silver-grey eyes that matched his own in color and intensity. "Has he…?" His father trailed off when his eyes landed on Draco. His lips tightened, and Draco knew his father was the closest he ever came to tears.

"Fa-," Draco started, trying to rise from the bed and then falling back when a wave of pain rocketed through his body.

" _Draco,_ " Severus hissed, finally withdrawing from his bag with a disgusting looking orange and green potion and the standard looking healing and pain potions. Draco clamped his mouth shut, eyeing the potion warily. He knew what Severus' potions tasted like. "None of that, you need these," Severus glared, holding the vials out to him imperiously. He sighed and swallowed them, almost gagging at the taste. He winced as they passed through his damaged throat but almost immediately the pain ceased, and he could feel his throat begin to pull itself back together under the skin.

"Draco," his father said, crossing to stand by his bed. "How do you feel?"

"Father, what happened?" Draco countered, ignoring the question. "Where's mother?" The two men in front of him exchanged a long look and Draco swallowed. That was never good. When his father and Severus looked at each other like that, even mother knew to be wary. "Father-," Draco started, refusing to let his voice break. He would not be weak in front of his father, no matter the circumstance.

"I think I will go find, Potter." Severus said abruptly, and Draco's eyes widened. "He's been alone too long."

"Potter?" Draco said, his voice rising in pitch and making him cough suddenly. "Harry Potter? Why is  _he_ here?"

"Because he is," Severus answered, studying Draco with unreadable dark eyes. "And I implore you not to cause trouble with him, Draco."

"I never cause trouble he doesn't deserve," Draco answered sullenly. Severus' eyes narrowed, looking down his nose at Draco, his eyes darkening with every passing moment as if he was making an effort to control his rage. Draco dropped his eyes, apprehension buzzing around him now; Severus  _never_  held back from a good talking to.

"Go, Severus," his father sighed. Severus turned his dark stare on him, nodded, and swept out of the room. "Must you always antagonize Potter, Draco?" his father asked. "We  _are_ allies now."

"It was you who taught me never to forgive someone who had wronged me.”

"You don't have to forgive someone to get along with them, Draco.”

"So, you want me to pretend?" Draco raised a skeptical eyebrow.

"Could you ever truly  _like_ Potter?" his father answered. "Truly Draco, I thought I had taught you better sense than this."

"It  _would_  be fun to play with his emotions," Draco mused, tilting his head as he considered the idea. Then he hesitated. "Mother would not approve," his father didn't answer. And when Draco looked over, he was staring out the window, his face dark. "Father?"

"Your mother is dead, Draco."

"What?" Draco flinched, clutching the bed sheets in his hands.

"Narcissa is gone."

"But…" Draco trailed off, staring at his father with wide eyes. It wasn't true. It was some cruel test his father was giving him. His mother wasn't—couldn't be dead.

"Greyback was tearing her to pieces by the time I got downstairs to you," his father said, and there was no emotion in his voice. There was _never_ any emotion in his voice. That was the Malfoy way. "I killed him, of course." _Of course, it was only logical,_ Draco thought, half in a daze. "She was already mostly dead but not quite. She clutched my hand and told me she loved us both," Draco clenched his jaw, refusing to let his emotions get the better of him when his father was hadn't. "I lied to Severus."

"What?" Draco whispered, blinking and feeling confused the shift of conversation, but it had to be important of his father wouldn't have brought it up. 

"I told him Narcissa was already dead when I found her."

"Why?" Draco asked. It wasn't exactly like his father to lie to Severus, but he always had his reasons. Whether or not he was always inclined to share them was a different story.

"He didn't need to know," his father answered, turning his head to lock eyes with Draco. And he knew that was closest they would ever get to sharing their grief.

_________________________________________________________________

Harry was halfway down from the Gryffindor tower when Severus caught up to him. Judging from the scowl on his face, he'd been expecting Harry to come to the infirmary when he woke up. Harry rolled his eyes at the wall; Severus really needed to update his expectations of Harry.

"Do you know how much trouble you cause me?" Severus snapped. Harry flinched, looking down at his toes and feeling the water from his shower drop across his scalp and onto the floor around him. Severus sighed, raising his hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. "Why didn't you bother to dry your hair?" Severus asked and then sighed again when Harry just shrugged. "Sometimes, I feel like you  _want_ to catch your death."

"And if I do?" Harry asked the floor and he could feel Severus' eyes boring into the top of his head.

"Have you eaten?" Severus asked, as he usually did when Harry ventured into topics he wasn't comfortable with.

"I'm not hungry."

"Great," Severus snapped, finally losing his patience. And Harry almost smiled, another great way to get Severus off your back, annoy him until he breaks. It wasn’t even that hard. "Help me carry food up to the infirmary, then," He reached out, but Harry instinctively shied away from his touch, his eyes flicking up to catch that passing trace of hurt that Severus always tried so hard to hide. But Harry couldn't help himself. He just couldn’t deal with the feeling of his skin crawling whenever someone touched him, not even Severus. "Come on," Severus said finally, moving down the corridor at his usual brisk pace. "I haven't got all day."


	4. What Lucius Malfoy Loves Most

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucius gets tattled on.

The dark-haired boy was too young, his hair was a mess, his clothes were horrible, and he wasn't even a pure-blood. He knew the dark-haired boy spent endless hours staring at that infernal Gryffindor redhead. Seriously, he couldn't figure out what was so special about her. But the dark-haired boy wouldn't agree with that, no. The dark-haired boy would spend hours talking to her, laughing with her, ditching his Slytherin friends to talk to her.

"Lucius," Narcissa Black nudged him in the ribs. He threw his long blonde hair over his shoulder in acknowledgment but made no other move to look at her. "You're staring again," she sighed, turning a page in her book. "It's beginning to be obvious."

"Hmm," he answered.

"Why don't you just go talk to him? Isn't he like a first-year or something. He'll think it's a blessing from the universe."

"Hmm."

"Are you even listening to me?"

"Hmm- Ack!" he yelled as she roughly yanked his hair, probably pulling some of the precious pieces loose. "What is wrong with you?" he hissed, massaging his aching scalp.

"Go talk to him," she snapped. "You're annoying me."

"He's busy talking to that Gryffindor again."

"Fine," Narcissa rolled her eyes. "Just don't bother me with your poutiness."

It didn't get any better as the year passed. The dark-haired boy continued to follow the redhead around, and gradually, began to be bullied by others. He stopped the Slytherins from bullying the dark-haired boy, but there was nothing he could do to stop the Gryffindors.

He watched as the dark-haired boy grew further and further apart from the redhead and more and more isolated from his classmates. But he didn't approach. What was he supposed to say? 'Hello, yes, I've been watching you all year, and-' He shook his head, that would go over well.

Well, he didn't approach until one day. It had been a bad day. The Gryffindors had been particularly harsh, and the dark-haired boy had called the redhead a Mudblood. He wondered if that was actually true. It must have been; that wasn't something one goes around accusing people of without knowing whether it was true or not.

He was just on his way up to one of the towers. It was one of his past-times. Watch the stars, ignore the world. He'd tripped on a bundle, sending him crashing to the ground in a cursing heap. Of course, he'd started yelling at the idiot that was laying in the middle of the hallway, only to come face to face with the dark-haired boy.

He stopped mid sentence, blinking as he stared.

"I…" the dark-haired boy trailed off as he realized he was being stared at. "I- do I know you?"

"I don't think so," he answered, quickly recovering his wits. "What were you doing?"

"Just… waiting."

"Ah," he answered, though that didn't make any sense at all. There was a beat of awkward silence that he felt compelled to break. "I was just going up to the tower to look at the stars."

"Oh," the dark-haired boy said.

"Yeah," silence. "Would you like to come?"

"Me?"

"Yes…?"

"I, uh," the dark-haired boy shifted, looking past him and at the wall as if hoping something would happen.

"Whatever you're waiting for can probably wait," he said, trying to hide the hope rising in his voice.

"I… yeah, yeah, I guess," the dark-haired boy said. They turned simultaneously, heading in the direction of the nearest tower.

"I'm Lucius Malfoy, by the way," he said as if it didn't matter much. The dark-haired boy gave him an odd look that he didn't understand but didn't say anything. "What's your name?" he asked finally.

"Severus Snape."

* * *

"And I care because…" Harry grumbled, following Severus along the corridor and up to the infirmary.

"Because I'm telling you to care," Severus answered, sending Harry a scowl. "Now cease your attitude immediately, Potter."

"Cease my attitude," Harry rolled his eyes. "No one says things like that," fortunately for Harry, Severus decided to ignore this comment. "But why can't he get his own food?"

"He's been turned into a werewolf, Potter," Severus snapped. "Have a  _little_ sympathy."

"Oh yes," Harry answered scathingly. "Because sympathy will do him  _so much good_." Severus sighed but made no answered.  _Probably because he doesn't have one_ , Harry thought.

Though just once he wished Severus would be able to say something that would make him reconsider. Just once.

"I expect you not to start anything with Draco," Severus said, stopping in front of the door to the infirmary. Harry blinked at him with some surprise.

"When am I ever the one to start trouble?" he asked. Severus grunted and pushed open the door.

The infirmary was empty except for the single bed that Lucius Malfoy had placed Malfoy in on Harry's last visit. Now, Malfoy was laying back on his pillows, the wounds along his throat mostly closed and replaced by dark angry red scars crisscrossing down his throat and dropping out of sight below his shirt. Malfoy's eyes locked immediately on Harry, widening for a second and then narrowing with an enigmatic expression that Harry didn't care to try interpreting.

"Severus," Senior Malfoy stood, his eyes flicking between them with the same unreadable expression as his son's. "Potter. How can we help you?"

Harry stepped forward, setting the food on a nearby bedside table. Then he stepped back, eyeing the doorway. Of course, Severus grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and stopped his retreat. He cursed, trying to wriggle out of Severus' hold though he knew it was no good.

"We brought food," Severus said. "Draco's potions should also be wearing off, so I brought him more."

"Ah, thank you." Senior Malfoy said, he stood, taking a few steps closer and looking at Severus with a strange intensity that Harry didn't want to try interpreting. "Severus, do you mind if I speak to you in private for a moment?"

"Potter," Severus said,his voice containing that ordering tone that Harry didn't know why he bothered with. It wasn't like Harry particularly cared to listen to him if he didn't want to. "Stay with Draco," Harry sighed heavily, letting it be known how much he was being put upon, but nodded and Severus let go of the back of shirt. He followed Senior Malfoy out of the infirmary, closing the door behind them. Harry plopped himself down on a bed, reaching across to snatch a grape from one of the plates he'd brought.

"I thought that food was for me?" Malfoy said, his tone high and imperious, and Harry just shrugged, grabbing another. "Normal people actually answer questions, you know," Malfoy griped, shifting in his bed. Harry shrugged again; he _was_ actually answering. There was a beat of silence where Malfoy shifted again and Harry ate another grape. He flicked a glance at Malfoy out of the corner of his eyes, any second now….

"What  _are_ you doing, Potter?" Malfoy suddenly burst out, as if he'd been unable to control himself any longer.

"Trying to leave," Harry smirked, plucking another grape off the plate and twirling it between his fingers. "What're you doing, Malfoy? Besides, lying about?" Malfoy's cheeks flushed, his silver-grey eyes flashing with anger.

"I'll have you know I've been seriously injured," Malfoy sniffed haughtily. "I'm  _supposed_ to be 'lying about,' unlike you."

"Oh, poor tragic Draco," Harry sighed, doing his best to sound heart broken.

"Don't call me Draco, Potter," Malfoy snapped.

"Why not,  _Draco?"_

"Because I don't like it."

"Oh, and we wouldn't want that," Harry answered. "Heaven knows, Perfect Little Draco Malfoy must  _never_ be uncomfortable."

"Fuck off, Potter. You don't know anything about me."

"No, I don't. And I don't want to."

"That's rather decided," Malfoy said, scowling as he reached up to push his blonde hair out of his face. Harry watched the movement, studying how Malfoy's hands were still trembling as if it was taking all his strength to sit up in bed and have talk. He wondered how much pain Malfoy was actually in. How much he was refusing to show. It made Harry admire him in a twisted kind of way. He would have expected Malfoy to be complaining to high heaven about his injuries, asking people to feed him from silver spoons so he didn't have to exert himself.

"Let me ask you something," Harry said. "Would _you_ like to know anything about me?" and Malfoy hesitated, his silver-grey eyes flicking over Harry's face as if he were trying to read something there.

"And if I said yes?"

"I'd ask why?" Harry raised an eyebrow.

"Because…" Malfoy trailed off, either unsure or unwilling to share his reasons. Harry smiled thinly, turning back to the plate of food.

"See," Harry answered, his smile wide and superior. "Everyone has ulterior motives."

"And what? You're the only exception to the rule?" Malfoy scoffed.

"It wouldn't be  _everyone_  if there were exceptions, would it? Don't you know anything."

"How dare you-?"

"I think Severus is glad you didn't die," Harry interrupted, plucking another grape and studying it.

"What?" Malfoy blinked. "Why wouldn't he be glad?"

"Well,  _I_ don't care so…"

"Are you always this much of an arsehole?" Malfoy sniffed, and Harry blinked at the glape in front of him, considering the question.

"Probably, I don't keep track."

"What? I wasn't serio-."

"Sucks about the other part though," Harry interrupted again.

"What  _other_ part?" Malfoy scowled at him; Harry turned back to him, tilting his head curiously.

"Your father didn't tell you?"

"Didn't tell me  _what,_ Potter?" Malfoy said, his annoyance obviously rising. Harry blinked, silently debating with himself.  _He_ shouldn't be the one to tell Malfoy, right? Not if his own father hadn't told him. Severus would literally hang him up by his toes if he did, but then, _someone_ should tell him...

"Potter," Malfoy gritted his teeth. "You had better tell me right now what you know, or I swear to Merlin…" Harry raised an eyebrow, how could he refuse  _that._

* * *

 

"They're going to kill each other," Lucius sighed, as Severus closed the door behind them.

"Probably," Severus answered, turning his dark eyes around to face Lucius. "Have you slept at all?" Severus asked, studying his face. "You look terrible."

"Ah," Lucius let out a tired chuckle. "Every man's dream, to be told he looks terrible," Severus turned his face away, but not before Lucius saw his cheeks flush.

"I didn't mean-."

"Have you slept, Severus?" he asked, making Severus blinked slowly, turning back to Lucius with a twisted smile.

"I'm fine, you needn't worry about me," Severus answered, but Lucius did worry. He worried about the way Severus' eyes had permanent bags under them. He worried about the way Severus didn't eat unless he was being forced. He worried about the way Severus still mourning Lily Evans as if she had died yesterday.

"Of course," Lucius said instead, his face betraying none of that.

"What did you need, Lucius?"

"Need? Nothing, I suppose. Only that I'm worried about Draco. I've not told him the truth about his werewolf bites."

"What? What do you mean you've not told him the truth?"

"I-," Lucius started but was cut off by the searing pain in his forearm. He clamped a hand down on the place on his arm where his Dark Mark was permanently seared into his flesh. His eyes flicked up, latching onto Severus', who had a look of identical pain in his dark iris'.

"It appears the Dark Lord has finally found out about the death of his precious Greyback," Severus muttered, his eyes never leaving Lucius' face.

"You should go," Lucius muttered, hating himself for even suggesting it. "He'll be suspicious if you don't hurry."

"Hmm," Severus answered. He hesitated and then spoke again. "Do me a favor and take care of Potter while I'm gone."

"Potter? Why?" Lucius said, frowning.

"Harry is..." Severus trailed off, his brow furrowing before he spoke again, and Lucius didn't miss Severus' concerned tone when he spoke Potter's first name. "The boy never does well when he's alone," Severus said finally.

He held Lucius' gaze for a heartbeat longer, and Lucius got the overwhelming feeling Severus was talking about more than just Potter. But then he looked away and the moment passed. Severus stepped forward, brushing past Lucius as he left. And he was so close Lucius could  _smell_ him. Never pleasant when Severus obviously hadn't had a bath in several days. He crossed his arms over his chest as he watched him disappear around the corner, Severus never was one for believing in the finer details of life.

"WHAT!?" Draco's voice sounded from inside the infirmary. Lucius sighed, allowing himself a single moment of frustration before he went to confront his son. He couldn't have left them alone for more than a few minutes and Draco was already screaming at the top of his lungs.

Finally, he turned and pushed open the doors, to find… not the horror scene he'd expected. Potter wasn't on the ground bleeding, Draco wasn't casting spell, there was no suspicious green flui spilling anywhere. Instead Harry was sitting on a bed, a plate of food in front of him, twirling a grape between his fingers as if he didn't have a care in the world. And Draco hadn't moved from  _his_ bed, though he did have a murderous glare on his face. Unfortunately, the glare, rather than being pointed at Potter was pointed firmly at Lucius.

"What is it, Draco?" Lucius asked, being careful his voice didn't betray his annoyance.

"Is it true, father?" Draco asked. "Will I be a… a we-were-," he seemed to choke on the word for a moment before giving up entirely and just looking at Lucius. As if Lucius could make it all go away.

"Draco…" he muttered, directing a glare at Potter's head. How dare he tell Draco before he was ready. Draco gasped, his silver-grey eyes widening with disbelief.

"No…" he whispered, shaking his head slightly. As if that would make the truth disappear.

"I can't believe you didn't tell him," Potter said, not even bothering to look up from his grape. "As if waiting longer will make it better."

"Yes, and what do you know about it, Potter?" Draco snapped, breaking out of his disbelief to glare at Potter.

"Oh, nothing," Potter answered, his lips twisting as he continued to play with his grape. "I know nothing about having your whole life turned upside down by some horrible fate that was forced on you and you  _never_ wanted," his fingers squeezed, sending grape juice spattering across the table. "So, I think I'll go find Severus and leave you to mourn your perfect pure-blood life in peace," he stood, dropping the remains of his grape on the table.

"Severus has left," Lucius said, watching Potter carefully now. He felt he was just beginning to understand why everyone wanted to keep the boy close. He wasn't exactly  _stable._ "He was summoned by Lord Voldemort." Potter's eyes flicked up to him, flashing with some emotion that was gone too fast from Lucius to identify.

"And I care because…." Potter asked, raising an eyebrow as if he really didn't. Lucius couldn't stop himself from blinking. Potter just smirked and crossed to the door.

"Severus didn't want you to be by yourself," he said, and Potter hesitated, his hand hovering in the air. And just for a moment, Lucius really thought Potter would come back.

"Severus wants a lot of things he'll never get," he answered, then he threw open the door and left.

Lucius cocked his head, listening to the boy's retreating footsteps. He didn't understand. What had happened to the Wizarding World’s Golden Boy to make him seem so… Hostile? So... Broken?

"Why didn't you tell me?" Draco's asked, his voice breaking through Lucius' thoughts. He turned, refusing to let his sorrow show in his eyes. The last thing Draco needed was to see him weak. The last thing either of them needed was to break down. Malfoy's were always strong in the face of new obstacles.

"I was going to."

"When?"

"When you were ready."

"Bullshite," Draco snapped.

"Watch your tone-."

"No," Draco glared, his eyes shining as if he was about to start crying. Lucius rather hoped not, he rather hoped he'd trained Draco better than that. "I trusted you never to lie to me."

"I didn't lie, Draco. I-."

"No, you did worse," he raised one trembling hand as if to touch the marks crisscrossed along his neck. Lucius turned his face away. "You can't even look at me!"

"Draco-."

"Just get out!" Draco yelled, sitting up in his bed with a grunt of pain. "Just get away from me before you feel compelled to lie about something again." Lucius raised his chin and set his jaw. He wouldn't scold his son, not now.

"Very well," he said, turning around and following Potter out the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the Kudos and Comments!


	5. Deal Making

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucius makes a deal with the Order of the Phoenix.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Physical/Verbal Child Abuse. Implied Sexual Abuse

Having Professor Snape at his house was different. He had no idea how he convinced Petunia and Vernon to move him into the spare bedroom, but it had happened after one quiet conversation that he hadn't been allowed to attend.

Professor Snape had curled his lip at his cupboard but had never said anything. He supposed he was picking what battles to fight because Professor Snape had had plenty to say when he saw him with his first black and purple bruise from Vernon. His uncle didn't dare try to hit him again after that. He guessed Professor Snape also had words with Petunia, because after the first week, she was much more careful about what she said when the potions master was around. However, they found other ways to make his life the living hell he was used to. Ways that Professor Snape could do nothing about.

Petunia took to making him wash the dishes in boiling water till his hands were red and bleeding, insisting that he just couldn't get that polish she liked. Vernon would order him to wake up at the crack of dawn to organize something or other of his business papers and then get home and keep him up till after midnight with some such other nonsense. He was always exhausted, his hands were always on fire, and his body was always on the point of collapse. But it was preferable to what it had been before.

The worst part was seeing the frustration in Professor Snape's eyes. An unyielding conviction that 'he should have been doing more,' though both of them knew he couldn't. It was enough for him that Professor Snape was even there. Even with all his prickly edges and insulting bards, the one thing he knew before anything else was that Professor Snape actually cared. Maybe he didn't care about him, but he cared what happened to him. It was an interesting feeling. An unfamiliar feeling. He supposed he should have already felt it, what with being friends with Hermione and Ron. But he had always felt that Ron was more friends with his scar than him and Hermione was just too bossy and careful for him to really feel she cared about him.

He was also beginning to discover just how powerful he was. Professor Snape wasn't patient, but he was a good teacher when he wanted to be. He was still terrible at potions, exploding everything that he didn't outright ruin anyway. However, without the constant pressure of all the students staring at him, and the teachers expecting him to succeed because of his name, and Hermione's incessant whispering, he began to really excel at and understand what Professor Snape was talking about.

He was dreading going back to Hogwarts. And as it turned out, rightly so. Professor Snape had to leave three days before he did, which didn't relieve any of the anxiety he had worked up over his return.

"I'll be going back now," Professor Snape had said the morning he'd been preparing to leave.

"Oh," he answered, knowing the potion's master wouldn't want him to cause a scene. Yet, that was truly all he wanted to do.

"You'll be fine for three days, I'm sure," Professor Snape said, his eyebrows furrowing as if even he didn't believe it.

"Yes, sir."

"Well, I'll be off," Professor Snape said, turning as if to leave. And something broke in him. He couldn't be here alone with them, he couldn't. Professor Snape would understand; he had to.

"Wait!" he called. "Professor Snape," he stepped forward, wrapping his hands around Professor Snape's long cape that he always wore. "Please don't leave me, please."

"Potter, release me immediately," was his answer, the voice cold and hard and his face turned completely away as if he wasn't even worth looking at.

He hesitantly released Professor Snape, letting the fabric slip through his finger before stepping away. He watched as Professor Snape walked away from him, never once looking back. He was 12 then and he learned the true meaning of heartbreak.

It was funny how four words could shatter a summer of healing.

And of course, he wasn't fine. That night, while he was cleaning up dinner—he had thought he was being so smart—waiting till he thought everyone was in bed. It hadn't worked though.

He had felt a presence at his back, but before he had time to move, Vernon had him by the hair. He remembered his head being forward, Vernon slamming his forehead against the counter, at least breaking one plate before releasing him to fall on the ground. He tried to get away, to be anywhere but where he was, but Vernon's meaty fist was in his hair again, and he was being pulled up to look into the squinting eyes and chubby face that he'd been trying so hard to avoid.

"Trying to crawl your way out of this, are you, boy?" Vernon said, spittle flying into his face. "Like you have been all summer. Well, I'll tell you what? You deserve this, boy, you know that, don't you?" he just looked at him as Vernon's hand tightened painfully in his hair. "Don't you?" he nodded, keeping his mouth firmly shut. "Good boy," Vernon's lips twisted, his hand pulling cruelly. "I bet I could just guess all the things you and that Professor of yours got up to," Vernon's hand tightened again and this time he couldn't keep the wince off his face. "Well, I think I'll help you never worry about him again." Vernon released his hair and he immediately fell to the ground, not daring to crawl away now. "In fact, no one will ever want to touch your used sorry arse every again, get me?"

And he didn't ever forget the feeling he got when he saw Vernon's hand drop to his belt buckle.

* * *

Lucius didn't like Dumbledore. He didn't like The Order of the Phoenix. He didn't like the way the old man smiled at him and asked about his dead wife as if he actually cared what had happened to her. He didn't like the way Mad-Eye Moody stared at him with that magical eye as if he could see all the Malfoy secrets. And he especially didn't like how they all looked down their noses at him. He was a Malfoy, a pure-blood, powerful wizard with twice the bloodline and social standing as any of them and they had the audacity to act as if they were better than him. It made him want to curl his lip and curse them all.

Unfortunately, he had come to  _hate_ Lord Voldemort. No hate was too mundane a word for the thing that reduced him to a sobbing begging mess—something a Malfoy  _never_ was- for the thing that had killed his wife in their own home—the place that was supposed to be protected above all else- for the thing that had corrupted his son—perhaps ending the Malfoy line forever. It was not to bourn and if that meant working with people he didn't like, well, he had done it before.

He was in Dumbledore's office, shoved in with about a third of their pathetic order. Including Remus Lupin, Minerva McGonagall, Mad-Eye Moody, and Dumbledore himself. Lucius had been all for rescheduling the meeting until Severus was back, but Dumbledore had insisted that he hear what Lucius had to say as soon as possible. So, here he was, sitting in the dullest meeting of his life, listening to people he had no interest in listening to.

"I am sorry for your loss, Mr. Malfoy," Dumbledore said. "Though I still do not quite understand what has brought you to us?"

"Forgive me for believing you had some kind of plan worked out in regards to defeating Lord Voldemort," Lucius answered. "Perhaps if that's not the case I'd better try my luck with the giants, or would you suggest the vampires? Oh, my mistake, Lord Voldemort has already recruited both of them."

"The fact that you had nowhere also to turn is hardly a compelling reason to trust you." McGonagall said as if that  _wasn't_ obvious.

"No," he answered. "Thank you for that riveting piece of evidence, Minerva. I now know why we couldn't start this meeting without you."

"Now, Lucius," Dumbledore said. "I understand your frustration-."

"Ah, so a dark lord has turned your only son into a werewolf, has he?" Lucius asked, cocking an eyebrow. Dumbledore smiled as if he wasn't the least bit perturbed by Lucius' attitude. "My condolences, Albus, I had no idea of your misfortune."

"Mr. Malfoy, if I may," Remus Lupin said, stepping forward as if he had any right to address him. "It does you no good to alienate us. You and Draco are going to need all the help you can get."

"Yes," Lucius curled his lip, hoping he wouldn't have to scrub the smell of wet dog out of his robes later. "Much obliged."

"So, the question, Mr. Malfoy," Mad-Eye Moody said. "Is what do you want from us and what can you give us?"

"Ah," Lucius smiled slightly, relaxing back in his chair and crossing his legs as he examined the room in front of him. This was a conversation he could understand. "That  _is_  the question. And it has a very simple answer. I want protection for myself and my son in return for all the information I know about Lord Voldemort."

"And what makes you think we need it?" McGonagall asked, flinching at the name. "Severus Snape-."

"-does not tell you everything," Lucius interrupted with a long sigh. "Oh, it's not his fault. Not in the slightest, it's just that there's some things he  _can't_ tell you without Lord Voldemort-," another flinch. He had to hold back his smile. "-becoming suspicious of him. I, however, no longer have such a problem."

"And why is that?" Lupin croaked.

"What was that, Lupin?" He asked, resisting the urge to curl his lip. "I couldn't hear you over the toad in your throat. In fact, you're looking rather sickly, why don't you go… somewhere I'm not."

"Mr. Malfoy." Lupin answered, his voice surprisingly level. "You know very well why I look sickly. And you also know very well that the same thing will happen every month to your son. There is no need-."

"To my son?" Lucius answered, feigning horror. "I think not. A Malfoy would never be caught dead in the state your in." Lupin sighed heavily, but thankfully seemed to drop his protests.

"I do believe Remus' question stands, however," Dumbledore said. "Why exactly has this happened?"

"My reasons are my own," he answered, his hand clenching around the end of his walking staff even as he smiled coolly. "Besides, why look a gift horse in the mouth, Dumbledore?" He spread his hands as if he was offering himself. "I'm here to help after all." They exchanged nervous looks as if they didn't know quite what do with  _that_  before Dumbledore turned back to Lucius.

"I suppose we have a deal, Mr. Malfoy."

* * *

Severus kept his position firmly on the other side of the room as the Dark Lord continued to slash at one of the Malfoy family portraits. Severus still wasn't sure why he was bothering because tearing up the smiling fabric faces of Draco and Lucius obviously wasn't making him feel any better.

"Greyback  _dead,_ " he snarled, swinging his wand forward to make another cut. "How could this have HAPPENED?" Silence. Severus hoped that had been a rhetorical question. "WELL!" the Dark Lord turned, snarling at the mass of Death Eaters gathered around him. Apparently not.

"Greyback went ahead of the rest of us, My Lord," someone stepped forward. Severus didn't bother to identify who they were. He didn't want to know who would be screaming in a minute.

"Fool!" the Dark Lord wailed, raising his wand and  _crucioing_ the man before him with hardly a thought. Severus watched the scene without expression, waiting for the Dark Lord to release the man. Eventually, he did, and the Deatheater went scrambling away, disappearing back into the crowd where he should have just stayed in the first place.

"My Lord," Severus said, stepping forward.

"What?!" the Dark Lord hissed, his red snake eyes focusing on Severus with such malice that he was sure he'd just made a mistake.

He clenched his jaw and forced his mind to constrict. He would feel fear, desire to help his lord, and nothing else. He would not think about Lu- No. He would feel fear, desire to help his lord, and nothing else. There was room in his mind for nothing else.

"Speak, Severus," his lord murmured, seemingly appeased by what was going through his mind. "We are waiting."

"I know where Lucius and Draco Malfoy are, My Lord." he said, lowering his head as if he couldn't stand to hold his lord's eyes any longer.

"Where?" the Dark Lord hissed, instantly stepping closer to Severus. He immediately raised his eyes back to the Dark Lord's and replayed his memory of Lucius and Draco over the last couple of days. He was careful to avoid his feelings and anything to do with Draco's injuries as he showed the Dark Lord his memories. "Ah, so they're at Hogwarts. The cowards, running to Dumbledore for protection as if he can save them," Severus bowed his head and made to move away, wanting nothing more to do with The Dark Lord tonight.

"Wait, Severus," he hissed. "I have a task for you, yet."

* * *

Draco woke to someone running a cold compress against his throat and down onto his chest. It felt like heaven, soothing the aching in his scars in a way that let him know the person was using something other than water. He kept his eyes closed for a moment, enjoying the feeling before the soft voice above him wrenched him out of his relaxed state.

"I know you're awake," the voice said. It was soft, thoughtful, and obviously masculine. And since Severus would never touch him like this and he was still angry with his father, that left only-

Draco yanked himself away from the hand still gently pressing the cold compress against his skin, opening his eyes to lock gazes with the cool emerald stare that could only belong to Harry Potter.

"What are you doing?" he snapped, shoving Potter's hand away.

"I was attending to your wounds," Potter answered, raising an eyebrow as if this was normal and Draco was the one being absurd.

"Why?"

"You're not fully healed."

"So…?"

"Were you not in pain?"

"That's not the point!" Draco snapped, feeling as if they were going in circles. Potter let out a loud sigh, shaking his head as if he'd lost his patience with the conversation.

"This needed to be done or your wounds might reopen and infect themselves," Potter murmured, his eyes locked on the compress in his hands. "I'm sure Severus would have done it, but he's still gone, and I don't fancy a lecture on his return."

"Severus is still with Vol- with  _him?"_

"It's not uncommon," Potter answered, his eyes flickered up to Draco's face and locking on his eyes as if he was looking for something.

"But hasn't it been a long time?" Draco asked, pointedly looking away from Potter's searching gaze.

"We'll know if something's happened," Potter shrugged, his eyes dropping back down to the compress in his hands. They sat like that for several minutes, Draco feeling completely uncomfortable while Potter appeared to be lost in thought, wringing the cold compress between his fingers. Then, finally, right when Draco was about to come up with the courage to demand to know why the Hell Potter was still here, he glanced up at the clock and stood. "You need to take your potions."

"I feel fine," Draco answered immediately, not trusting anything Potter gave him.

"Suit yourself, then," he said, though he still went to Severus' dark potions bag and pulled out two potions, setting set them on Draco's bedside table before sitting back down beside him.

"Why are you still here?" Draco demanded, the words slipping out before he could stop them.

"Where else is there to be?"

"I... What?" Draco blinked, unable to process, much less come up with a suitable counter argument. Fortunately, Potter seemed to be paying him no mind.

"Why are you angry with your father?" he asked.

"What?"

"Must I speak in smaller words, Malfoy?" he smirked.

"Don't try to be smarter than you are, Potter," he sneered. "I simply couldn't fathom why you would care."

"Who says I care?" Potter shrugged. "Maybe I'm just curious."

"About what?"

"He was only trying to protect you."

"And that makes lying about my own fate alright?"

"No," Potter answered, looking Draco straight in the eyes. And Draco had the urge to look away. He'd never seen Potter like this, so unnervingly serious and… Determined. There was always that layer of sarcasm and cynicism that Potter hid behind but now, it was like he was seeing the real Harry Potter. And Draco had no idea what to do with him. "It doesn't make it alright, but sometimes people do stupid things when they're trying to protect you. They think not telling you means you can't be hurt, but in the end all it does is hurt you more."

"You say that like you know," Draco said softly. Though he knew immediately it was the wrong thing to say. Potter's face immediately closed off, replaced by the sharp-edged mockery that Draco knew well from their 5 years at Hogwarts together.

"Do I know?" Potter's lips twisted in an ugly smile as he rose from his seated position beside Draco's bed. "Perhaps I do, perhaps I don't. It doesn't really matter either way," he turned as if to leave, then stopped with his body still turned away from Draco. "Take the potions, Draco. You're not dead yet."

Then he was gone with a quiet brush of feet against the floor, leaving Draco more curious than ever about This Not So Golden Hero of Gryffindor House.


	6. How to Pretend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Severus returns, and Draco gets a visitor.

By the time he finally returned him to Hogwarts, after his uncle was done with him, after the three days had passed, and everyone around him was so happy. So easy going. And he was just too tired to care anymore. So tired and sore and done pretending to be fine when he wasn't. He could feel the marks his uncle had left on his body--inside his body-- every time he moved, and he hated it. He hated how he felt dirty because of something his uncle had done to him. He hated how he couldn't even let Professor Snape look at him for fear of what he would see.

And then he had saved Justin and all he got in return was mistrust and scorn. He was tired of being the freak. Even in the wizarding world, he had managed to be the freak. He still couldn't understand why it was so wrong to be able to talk to snakes. His first real friends had been snakes. Even the snake in the great hall had really only been confused.

But, no. He went from hero to evil because of his ability; even his 'friends' looking at him suspiciously.

The only one who didn't treat him differently was Lockhart, and he tried to stay as far away from him as possible. He knew when someone was only trying to use him for his fame, even if he wished said fame would just up and leave him alone.

And the year continued steadily. Mrs. Norris was the first to be attacked. He heard all of it happen, he heard the Basilisk through the wall, heard him lock onto his prey, heard Mrs. Norris turn too soon and only see him through the water. He heard the angry shriek and then nothing as he retreated again.

When he left Lockhart's detention, he turned the opposite way from where Mrs. Norris' body was. Someone would find it. It wouldn't be him. He was so tired of fighting.

Of course, everyone suspected him anyway. He must be the heir of Slytherin, never mind the simple fact that he wasn't in Slytherin. Even his 'friends' believed the rumors. He could see the truth in their eyes no matter what they claimed. So, Hermione and Ron steady grew away from him, intent on finding out what was going on while he wanted nothing more than to be left alone.

The school got closer and closer to being closed down, but he honestly couldn't find it in himself to care. It was either this Hell or a different kind of Hell. So, he focused on his work. On his life. He slowly passed Hermione as the top of class in everything but potions and ignored everyone around him. If they didn't want him around, then he wouldn't be around. He was so tired of pretending otherwise.

That was, until he was needed. He was always needed. He wasn't allowed to have a peaceful life, even though everyone hated him for it.

He knew about Hermione being petrified, of course he did. But they hadn't exactly been close anymore, so he was surprised when the first person Ron came to find was him. Then: "Harry, I need your help!" were the first words to leave the redhead's mouth and the surprise vanished. He sighed.

"With what?" 

"We've found the chamber of secrets."

"Ron, you know-."

"I know you don't want anything to do with that," Ron interrupted. "But it's Ginny, Harry. You can't do nothing!"

"Ginny?" he blinked, knowing nothing about Ginny being petrified. "What about Ginny?"

"The Heir of Slytherin took her into the chamber," Ron answered. "And it can only be opened by a parsletongue."

So, he had gone with him. First to Lockhart and then when he had proved incompetent, they'd left him unconscious and gone deep under Hogwarts and into the twisting tunnels. He didn't know how Ron and Hermione had found the entrance, and he didn't ask. If it wasn't for Ginny, he wouldn't have been there in the first place.

"I don't know what we're up against," Ron muttered. "Hermione couldn't figure it out."

"It's a Basilisk," he answered, and Ron stopped suddenly, looking at him nervously.

"Harry, you're not, you know, The Heir of Slytherin, are you?" Ron asked quietly. He paused, casting an enigmatic look back at Ron before continuing his slow track forward. He wanted to say yes, he wanted to turn around and leave Ron to his fate. He wanted to do so many things that he knew he wouldn't. He couldn't. Though he knew Ron would do to him if the positions were reversed. 

"If I was, it would already be too late for you, wouldn't it?"

It didn't take them long to find the main room on the chamber of secrets. The tunnels all seemed to be pointing that direction anyway. It took them even less time to figure out what was going on, what with Tom Marvolo Riddle explaining everything to them while Ginny lay dying on the floor. Ron yelled while he just stared; this was He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named before he became He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. He wondered what exactly it took to become so evil in your heart that you could condone killing a family, a baby.

Tom Riddle talked of being curious about him—no, not of him. Of what he had done when he was a baby in a crib. He was curious of his scar. Like everyone else. Though he supposed it was only fair; he was only curious about Tom Riddle's name and what it would change to.

Eventually, Tom Riddle released the Basilisk. Ron was determined to fight it, though he refused. It was a living creature; it wasn't the Basilisk's fault his master was evil. He was more focused on the diary slowly eating away at Ginny's life.

And, of course, Severus had taught him that the best way to destroy a dark artifact was with Basilisk venom. After that realization, it was only a matter of directing the Basilisk in the right direction and then placing the little black book into his mouth before he bit down. Neither the Basilisk nor Tom Riddle saw it coming until Tom Riddle was crumbling to dust and the Basilisk was free to do as he desired.

"Leave," he commanded, "You will attack no one else here." The Basilisk looked at him for a moment before slithering down the corridor and disappearing.

"What did you say?" Ron had whispered, shivering from a different kind of fear. He didn't bother answering.

They told him Ginny would live. They told him he did a good job. They told him the school was safe now, though it was a pity he hadn't been able to catch the Basilisk—Ron had sent him an odd look at that one. They told him the other victims would be unpetrified soon enough.

He was too tired to care. He turned his head and locked eyes with Professor Snape, and for the first time since he'd returned to school, he cried.

And it had absolutely nothing to do with Tom Riddle or Basilisks or people being petrified. Everyone was shocked, but Snape seemed to understand, he scooped him up into his arms and carried him up and out of the infirmary, never saying anything because there was nothing that would make it better and they both knew it.

* * *

Draco lay in bed, glaring at the ceiling and thinking. No—he wasn't thinking because there wasn't anything to think about. Potter was absolutely wrong. His father was wrong. And still, he couldn't stop the words from echoing around in his head. 'Sometimes people do stupid things when they're trying to protect you. They think not telling you means you can't be hurt, but in the end all it does is hurt you more.' His emerald green eyes had been so open, so honest. Draco was sure he'd never seen another person look at him like that, much less Potter.

_That still doesn't mean he's right_ , Draco stubbornly insisted. He nodded encouragingly to himself. His father lied to him. No, if Draco was being honest with himself, that wasn't even what was bothering him. It was the fact that his father was so ashamed of what he'd become that he couldn't even bring himself to look at the scars along his neck, much less tell Draco what they meant.

He sighed; he really should have guessed it on his own. But he'd been so tired, so grief-stricken. He guessed, he just didn't  _want_ to know. Just like his father. And yet, that wasn't an excuse. On the next full moon, he was still going to turn, whether he wanted to or not.

The door opened, and Draco straightened himself, making himself presentable in the seconds in took for the person to become visible around the door. He felt his lips curl when he realized just who had come to see him.

"Draco," Remus Lupin smiled slightly. "How are you?"

"Peachy," Draco answered, his eyes narrowing suspiciously.

"Now, Draco," Lupin said, his smile dropping slightly. "I understand you've had a hard time but-."

"Yes," Draco interrupted. "You can leave now."

"But I'm here to help you." Lupin continued, acting as if he'd never spoken. He walked over, sitting down in the chair next to Draco's bed and looking at him kindly. It was unnerving.

"I don't need your help," he answered, his voice curling around each word in an odd unfamiliar way.

"You think that now, but what about when the full moon comes around? Do you have any idea what to do?"

"I think I can figure it out," Draco snarled, baring his canines on reflex. Immediately, he sat back again, swallowing hard. He  _would not_ act like an animal. He had been able to control himself around Potter, why couldn't he-

"It's because I'm a werewolf too," Lupin said, interrupting his thoughts. He leaned forward, his hand outstretched as if he would touch Draco, who immediately snarled. Lupin withdrew with a sigh. "You can't control your impulses, because I'm a werewolf too. It's easier around humans. Though it'll also get more dangerous for them as the full moon approaches."

"Thanks for the tip," Draco sneered. "You can go now."

"Draco, you may not want to admit it, but you need help. You need an ally in this."

"I'm fine." Draco snapped, grinding his teeth.

"Very well," Lupin sighed as if he was genuinely upset about this turn of events. He stood, pausing to hover over Draco's prone form. "If you change your mind-."

"I won't."

"If you do, you'll be able to find me."

"That doesn't even make sense," Draco answered.

"It will," Lupin said, smiling slightly.

* * *

The Dark Lord held Severus later than he usually did, intent on reading and going over every part of his mind and then going over Severus' part of taking out Lucius and Draco. It left Severus exhausted, mentally and physically. It was almost impossible to keep up a mental fraud for that long, but he had somehow managed it. He always somehow managed it.

Eventually, The Dark Lord was satisfied, and he let Severus return to Hogwarts. He stepped out of the floo and almost immediately collapsed. He would have face planted into the carpet if Lucius hadn't caught him.

"Severus!" he gasped, his arms closing around Severus' waist and pulling him up before he could hit the floor. He grunted but made no effort to stand on his own. Lucius was too warm. He was always too warm on nights like these. "It's about damn time," Lucius muttered, and he suddenly felt like laughing. Lucius  _never_ cursed. He was too 'in control' of himself for that. Well, except when he wasn't.

"My bed, Lucius," Severus whispered. "I need to rest."

"Of course," he answered, straightening under Severus' weight. He wasn't gentle. He was never gentle, but he did get Severus to his bed faster than anyone else would have, and Severus appreciated that more than any kindness Lucius could have shown. He didn't bother to thank him as he climbed into the bed, there wasn't a point. Lucius was always there, whether he thanked him or not. He just pulled the covers up around his shoulders and turned to face Lucius, taking in the long blonde hair and startling silver-grey eyes that were fixed on him. 

"What's wrong?" Severus asked.

"Why must anything be wrong?" Lucius answered, raising a single pale eyebrow.

"Your hair is down," he said. This was one of the few times Lucius had let his hair down, and it was falling in waves around his face and down his back, probably becoming a big tangled mess that he'd have to sort out later. A sure sign something had happened to make Lucius upset.

"Ah," was the only answer he received.

"Do you remember when we were young, and we actually believed in everything the Dark Lord preached?" Severus murmured after a moment.

"You never believed in him," Lucius answered, his eyes cast far away, not seeing Severus. "You only joined the Death Eaters because of Evans."

_No,_ he thinks.  _I joined because you asked me to._ He doesn't say it though. He won't ever say it. Especially, not with Narcissa's death so close at hand, and Lucius still mourning whether he wanted to admit it or not.

"Perhaps."

"Besides, who ever said I  _stopped_  believing in everything he preached? Perhaps I still believe in pureblood superiority and the fact that muggles should be our slaves."

"Then why have you betrayed him?" Severus asked, blinking slowly up at him. "For pride? Doesn't working with muggleborns hurt your pride more than the Dark Lord could?"

"Hmph," Lucius sniffed in that haughty way that always succeeded in annoying him. "Why do you  _insist_ on calling him the Dark Lord? What is he the lord of anyway, Severus?"

"An interesting attitude for someone whose values haven't changed."

"Perhaps," Lucius' lips twitched, his eyes focusing back on Severus. "Though I can't help but notice you avoided the question."

" _Perhaps_ ," Severus answered, narrowing his eyes dangerously, "because you already know the answer."

"Fear is a weakness, Severus."

"Oh? Tell me  _you_  do not fear the Dark Lord, then, Lucius," he answered, his annoyance rising. Lucius turned his face away in response. "At least, I am not afraid to admit my fear." There was a beat of silence, and he knew Lucius was about to leave. Severus had crossed that unspoken line between them, pushed him too far, forced him to admit something he didn't want to admit and now he would draw into himself. It was his pattern. Their pattern. 

"I should take my leave," Lucius muttered, shifting. Severus nodded stiffly though he made no other move from his bed, knowing Lucius knew the way out of his chambers. After another moment, Lucius turned and started toward the door, only to stop about a foot away. "What has happened to Potter to make him so unstable?" he asked, and though his voice was quiet, it still managed to ring around the room and pierce through Severus skull like a bullet.

"That's not a question I know how to answer, Lucius." Severus said, his voice just as quiet.

Lucius turned his head, looking at him with unfathomable eyes before he nodded once and left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the kudos! Don't forget to leave a comment about anything you liked or even didn't like!


	7. To Break a Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Severus gives Harry some advice.

After Lucius Malfoy befriended him in his first year of Hogwarts, he'd learned that Lucius was different than he expected him to be. Lucius wasn't necessarily charming, but he had a way of turning his silver-grey eyes on him and making him want to do exactly what he said. Which wasn't exactly usual. Well, it wasn't usual around anyone but Lily.

He wasn't a fool. He'd recognized his growing infatuation for what it was. But he just couldn't seem to pull away from Lucius, no matter how hard he tried. And it wasn't like the other boy was helping him any. Lucius almost encouraged him to come with him, calling out before he left the great hall in the mornings, asking what he'd be doing for the weekends. He truly didn't understand it; the older boy should have been avoiding not just a first year but a complete looser of a first year like him.

Lucius was a pureblood. He was not. Lucius was rich. He was not. Lucius was beautiful. He was… not. He didn't understand and no amount of contemplating could make him. 

Yet, still it didn't stop. As he drifted further and further away from Lily, he grew closer and closer to Lucius, becoming entrapped into the boy's world, unable to find his way out again. And he wasn't sure he'd really wanted to anymore.

When summer came, he expected their…. whatever they had, to simply end. He didn't require an explanation, it had been nice while it lasted. It didn't end, however. He'd received a letter from Lucius nearly every day, sometimes accompanied by a present from his family's latest vacation.

He was appalled. He tried with all his might to understand what the pureblood could be gaining from their supposed friendship, but he could come up with nothing that made sense. Especially after the one time he'd refused to respond to any of Lucius' letter and had ended up with a howler yelled at him for being rude. He wasn't about to make that mistake again, not after the beating he'd received at his father's hand.

Still, when they returned to school for the next term, that didn't stop him from being wary of Lucius. A fact that seemed to annoy the 7th year Head Boy to no end.

"You don't need to sit way over there," Lucius snapped, glaring across the compartment at him.

"Where are the rest of your friends?" he'd asked, resisting the urge to snap back. With Lucius, an argument between them never ended well.

"Around," Lucius waved his hands vaguely. "Now, come over here, Severus." He hesitated, debating the chance of Lucius just leaving him alone if he refused. Then, he sighed, giving in to the older boy. He stood and cross the small space to sit about a foot away from him, looking determinately at the wall. Lucius sighed, closing the distance between them and placing an arm across his shoulder. He immediately tensed. He didn't understand. Lucius was always touching him like this, but he simply couldn't understand why. What did he want? "Why do you always act like I'm going to do something terrible when I touch you?" Lucius asked, his voice soft, almost sweet against his ear. He tensed further, his whole-body shivering as Lucius' lips brushed against his earlobe.

"I…" He hesitated, and Lucius raised an expectant eyebrow. "I don't understand why you do."

"Why I do what?"

"Why you do any of it. Touch me, talk to me, write to me. What's in it for you?"

"In it for…" Lucius blinked as if the idea had truly never occurred to him before. He dropped his arm from around his shoulders, his eyebrows creasing as he continued to look shocked. "How could you not understand?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" He narrowed his eyes and Lucius immediately smiled as if his reaction was amusing.

"It means that what's in it for me, is you."

"What?"

"Exactly what I said," Lucius laughed softly. "I like you, Severus. Why is that so hard to understand?"

"But you have plenty of friends, why me?" He scowled, still feeling like he was being mocked somehow. The pureblood's smile dropped, and he sighed.

"You're not-," he stopped as if he'd suddenly thought better of what he was going to say. "One needs many different types of friends, no?" Lucius asked instead.

"I suppose," he answered, still feeling unconvinced.

"Good," Lucius answered, smiling down at him again. Though this time, the smile didn't reach his eyes. "Friends, then," he held out his hand for him to shake. He hesitated before reaching out and accepting the pureblood's hand. He supposed being 'friends' with Lucius hadn't hurt him so far. It had actually helped him, why not continue?

"Friends." He confirmed. Lucius dropped his hand and turned away, immediately dropping his smile in favor of staring out the window. He didn't talk to him the rest of the way to Hogwarts. And he didn't touch him again for a long time after.

* * *

Severus woke up to someone running a cold cloth down his forehead. It felt heavenly, and he wasted too long pretending it was Lucius touching him so gently. But it wasn't. He knew it wasn't. Harry had nursed him too many times after the Dark Lord had torn his mind apart for him to mistake those gentle touches.

Severus still didn't understand how someone so bitter could sometimes be so gentle. He knew Harry had never been touched gently. Which didn't exactly lead to knowing how to touch others. Frankly, in his opinion, it was miracle the boy hadn't turned out a lot worse than he had.

"How long was I asleep?" he asked, not bothering to open his eyes.

"I don't know," Harry sighed and the cloth on his forehead disappeared. There was the sound of dripping water and then a freshly dampened cloth was placed on his head. Severus resisted the urge to moan at the feeling against his burning mind. "I wasn't here when you got back. You should have called."

"Lucius was here."

"Ah," Harry answered, and he could hear the sneer in the boy's voice. "Not that Mr. Perfectly Perfect Pureblood could be bothered to see if you’re alright."

"It was my fault," Severus said. "I upset him."

"You upset  _me_ all the time.," his voice tired and bitter. "Yet, here I am."

"Lucius isn't the same as us."

"Yes, obviously," Harry muttered, taking the cloth away again. There was a beat of silence before Severus suddenly realized that there was another Malfoy that needed his attention. He sat up, his head spinning horribly at the motion. Harry just raised an unimpressed eyebrow at him as he was forced to lay back down again, touching one fingertip to his temple with a wince.

"Draco needs his wounds treated," he whispered.

"I already did it."

"You did?" Severus asked, raising a skeptical eyebrow. It was hard to imagine Harry going anywhere near the infirmary, much less for Draco Malfoy, who he adamantly seemed to hate. "Why?"

"Call it pity," Harry shrugged.

"Pity? Really?" Severus stared hard at him. "Tell the truth, Potter."

"Who says I'm not?" Harry smiled down at him, a bitter twist of his lips that had long since scared everyone else away. Severus, however, saw it almost every time he looked in the mirror; it wouldn't work on him.

"You haven't pitied anyone since you were 12 years old."

"And what an idiot I was."

"That wasn't the point I was making," Severus sighed.

"Then, it should have been."

"Don't change the subject, Potter. Why did you help Draco?"

Silence. Harry's eyes flicked away from his face, locking on the window. He looked far away, thinking about something he shouldn't be thinking about. Something that if Severus could have controlled, should never have happened to him.

"Harry," Severus said gently, trying to pull the boy out of his own mind.

"I'm so tired, Severus." Harry answered, his eyes never leaving the window. "So tired of always fighting."

"You know you don't have a choice."

"Yes," he said, his eyes shifting to begin glaring at the window as if it had caused all his problems. "Yes, I know. The world needs the bloody savior of the universe. And I'm so fucking tired of trying to be angry about something I can never change." Severus didn't have an answer to that. He supposed he should tell Harry to stop being angry, to accept his fate, but he knew that if he was in the boy's shoes he would never be able to do that. Hell, He  _hadn't_ been able to do it.

"What does that have to do with Draco?"

"Draco is so full of anger, of fight and hate." Harry let out a bitter laugh, his eyes never leaving the window. "He's not tired of it yet. When I'm around him, I can just... He's angry enough for the both of us."

"You're using him."

"Yes."

"That's not healthy," Severus sighed, but Harry just snorted as if he couldn't care less. Which he probably didn't. Harry hadn't cared about something as mundane as health in a long time. He did, however, care about survival. So, Severus used the only weapon he could to dissuade Harry, to convince him that he might get his heart broken, and they both knew Harry wouldn't survive if his heart was broken again. "What if you get attached?"

"I won't," Harry answered solemnly. "My heart doesn't work like that anymore." His dark green eyes flicked back to lock on Severus'. "You know that."

"And what about Draco?" Severus asked, feeling as if he was fighting a losing battle.

"He's a pureblood, he'd never let himself fall for the likes of me."

"People don't always control who they love, Harry."

"Really?" Harry snorted, his eyes never leaving Severus' face. "I find it easy. Perhaps you should try it before you doom yourself to an eternity of unrequited love with Lucius Malfoy."

"You don't know what you're talking about," Severus snapped, his eyes flashing dangerously. Harry just raised an eyebrow, regret absent from his gaze. Severus sighed, leaning back against the pillows and closing his eyes. "Why must you always be such an arse?" he asked.

"Funny, Draco Malfoy asked me almost the same thing."

"Oh, and what did you say?"

"I told him I didn't keep track."

"And why did you lie?" Severus asked, opening one eye to look up at the thoughtful expression still on Harry's face.

"Because it wasn't his business."

"If you were being an arshole to him, it clearly was his business."

"You should rest," was the only answer he got. "Voldemort did major damage to your mind."

"Very well," Severus sighed. He heard Harry stand and move toward the door, his steps quiet against the stone. But then his steps were always quiet, so easy to miss if one wasn't careful. "Potter," Severus called before he could leave, his eyes still tightly closed.

"What?" Harry answered, his foot snapping against the floor.

"Try not to break Draco's heart, will you. He may not seem it, but he's not as strong as you."

"I don't really care how strong his heart is," Harry answered immediately and then the door closed with a determined snap.

* * *

Lucius sat, answering question after incessant question the headmaster threw at him. He was beyond annoyed. How much was he expected to give without being given something in return. Surely Dumbledore didn't expect him to sit back and just trust that everything would be taken care of without some show that Draco and he would be taken care of.

"And what are Lord Voldemort's plans for Hogwarts?" Dumbledore asked, making Lucius scowl over the desk at him. Apparently, he _did_ expect Lucius to just tell him everything. He sat back in his chair and stared at Dumbledore, his patience finally having come to an end.

"This is all well and good, Dumbledore, but I do need  _some_  guarantees."

"I understand, Lucius," Dumbledore answered, his eyes never losing that annoying twinkle. "However, we made a deal and you need to give us information in exchange for that protection you were promised."

"I have given you plenty of information for today," Lucius almost hissed, though he controlled the urge. "Now, I want my guarantees."

"Lucius," Dumbledore sighed as if he were being very put upon. "I can't give you anything yet. It will take a while before the Ministry will approve you being here throughout the school year. As for your son, he's already enrolled and will continue to be."

"He'll have his own room," Lucius insisted. "And I  _will_ stay here."

"I will do my best to make that happen."

"Well," Lucius stood from his chair in front of the headmaster's desk. "Until you do, I'll not be telling you anything else I know. Have a good day, headmaster." Sneering, he departed.

The old fool, thinking he could use Lucius Malfoy like he was a piece of trash. Lucius wandered down several lights of stairs, finding himself in the dungeon before he really knew where he was going. He knew he should check on Draco, but he also knew the chances of his son wanting to talk to him were pretty slim. Malfoy's didn't forgive and forget so soon after they'd felt like they'd been slighted.

He stopped in front of Severus' room, hesitating before going in. The last time they'd talked hadn't been pretty. And then he'd left Severus in pain and half-conscious on his bed without a backward glance. True, Severus had upset him but that was hardly a decent excuse. He stepped forward and then had to scramble back as the door opened suddenly, almost knocking him in the face.

Harry Potter stepped out, freezing when his emerald green eyes caught on Lucius. His eyes narrowed, and he promptly slammed the door shut with his foot.

"Do you need something?" he asked, his voice low and full of malice.

"No," Lucius answered, keeping his voice level and emotionless. This boy would  _not_ scare him. "I simply came to check on Severus."

"He's resting. I suggest you come back another time," Potter answered, though he didn't move an inch from his position in front of the door. "Or never."

"Ah, very good. He was in bad shape when he first came back."

"Yes," Potter's eyes narrowed even further. "And I noticed you did so much to help improve his condition," Lucius bit back his wince but Potter was talking again before he could say anything. "Well, if there was nothing else," Potter hinted, still not moving.

"I…" Lucius hesitated. "Have you spoken to Draco?"

"Yes."

"And how does he seem?"

"Still very angry with you," Potter answered. If it was possible his shoulders seemed to tense even more as he stood looking at Lucius.

"You believe he has a right to be?" Lucius asked, truly curious though he couldn't for the life of him understand why.

"Yes," Potter answered and then he hesitated, opening his mouth and looking hard at Lucius. "Draco's not dead yet. It doesn't help to start treating him like he is." Lucius blinked down at the boy, not understanding. He hadn't been treating Draco as if he was dead. He had just been protecting him. "Now," Potter said, interrupting his thoughts. "If there's nothing else…"

"I- yes, of course." Lucius stepped back and turned heading back the way he'd come. He could feel the boy's eyes on his back as he retreating away from Severus' door, still thinking about what Harry Potter had said about his son.


	8. To be Noticed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The rest of the students arrive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Mild Descriptions of Rape

He wasn't sure what Snape had done to make sure he didn't stay at the Dursley's the whole summer of his 13th birthday. Maybe he'd just showed Dumbledore his memories about crying all over him. Or maybe he'd showed him the damage the Dursely's had done to his body for the three days that Snape hadn't been there. Or maybe, just maybe, Snape had shown him the damage the Dursley's had done to his mind.

The way Dumbledore was looking at him, he wouldn't have been surprised.

Either way, he didn't care. He was just so tired. And caring made him hurt, deep down in his bones. And when he hurt, it made him even more tired. And he was just so tired of being tired.

Of course, they had to go to the Dursely's for at least a little while. Snape had explained it all to him, something about blood wards and him needing his mother's protection. He'd tried not to snort when he'd heard that. Some protection she'd left him with.

Snape didn't let the Dursley's so much as look at him. Not that it helped much, he could still feel Vernon's hands on him. His fat finger's raking across his skin in his hurry to get his jeans down. He'd cried out, in pain, in desperation, but no one had come. Not that he'd really expected them to.

Snape would get frustrated when he refused to so much as open his mouth, much less speak when Vernon was in the room, but he could still remember how Vernon had pressed the palm of his meaty hand across his face, cutting off the air. Vernon had put his whole weight behind it as if he'd been truly afraid that he would be able to get away. Or maybe Vernon couldn't be bothered to hear the sound of his sobbing any more. Not that he could blame him if that was the case.

Nights were the worst. It didn't matter what Snape did. He could still see the figures moving around in the dark. He could still feel the hands tearing at his clothes, the voice forever mocking him, holding him down and demanding something from him that he didn't want to give.

Snape had even tried sleeping with him, laying across the doorway so as to make sure no one could come in or out without him knowing. It had helped; though it hadn't chased the nightmares away. He refused dreamless sleep potions. He couldn't bear the thought of putting something foreign in his body. Not after- He could feel the bags under his eyes steadily growing, becoming more and more worrisome. He knew Snape was worried when he'd fallen asleep during their lessons and hadn't bothered to wake him. Not that they were getting anything done anyway. He wasn't a bad student, but he wasn't anywhere near the student he'd been last year.

Finally, it was time to leave. Snape ordered him to pack his bags, his expression ever chilly and his eyes hard. He did as he was told without asking any questions. He didn't much care where he ended up, as long as it wasn't with the Dursley's anymore.

They stepped out of the house in the early morning, not bothering to say goodbye. He figured they didn't much care where he was. Well, unless Vernon was feeling particularly abusive. Snape offered his elbow, looking down at him expectantly but making no other move to touch him.

He'd shifted uncomfortably before tentatively reaching out and grasping Snape's elbow. He knew about Side Along Apparition, so it wasn't as if he didn't know what Snape was doing, but it still didn't make him any more comfortably with the idea of touching anyone, even if it was Snape.

They Disapparated, landing back on the sidewalk with a sickening pop. He immediately let go of Snape, leaning over and gasping for breath. He pressed a hand to his forehead, trying without success to stop the shaking that was moving its way down his body.

"Whenever you're ready, Potter," Snape said, shifting impatiently behind him. His voice calmed him, made the shaking less real. If Snape could act as if nothing was happening, then so could he.

"Of course," he'd answered, straightening. Snape had nodded approvingly, and then led the way up the street, stopping in front of a small little manor house. It was dark brick with a dark brown trim and a mahogany door. The house was nice he supposed, but it was really the garden that caught his attention. It was huge, taking up the entire front lawn and even growing over the fence in some parts. It moved something in him, settling between his ribs, and for the first time since Vernon had touched him, he felt something in his heart twitch.

"Snape?" he asked quietly.

"Yes."

"Whose house it this?" he asked. He was afraid of the answer, and he realized he _had_ been afraid of the answer. He didn't want Snape to drop him off with some random people and then go back to Hogwarts as if he had just been another chore to check off his list.

"This is my house, Harry," Snape answered, his dark eyes never leaving the house. He cleared his throat once, twice, shifting his feet as if he couldn't get comfortable before he spoke again. "Shall we go inside, I need to show you to your room."

"Why am I staying here?"

"Because someone has to take care of you," Snape had said, beginning to walk up the path to the house. "And that person happens to be me."

And just as suddenly as the light in his heart snapped on, it snapped back off. He lowered his head and followed Snape up the path to his manor.

He was almost positive Snape would never hit him, would never touch him, would never make him work till his hands bled, though he was surly and demanding and sometimes a little mean. But apparently that didn't mean he was any less of a chore to Snape than he had been to the Dursley's.

* * *

Harry was curled up in a ball, sleeping when the Hogwarts Express arrived. He'd been perched at the very tip top of his favorite tree; his claws were hooked into the wood to keep him from falling when the damn conductor had blown his whistle right by the forest, sending Harry's bones in a scramble.

He jumped, feeling the hackles along his ridge rise on instinct. Of course, that meant his claw came unhooked, and he found himself not perched on top of a tree branch anymore. Needless to say, hurdling through the air just to land with a loud thump on his side was not a pleasant experience.

He really hated the person that had made up the rumor that cats always landed on their feet. It simply wasn't true. Not even speckled, pointed eared bobcats who should have learned by now not to sleep in trees. Then again, he'd learned to take sleep where he could get it.

He heard the train whistle again and rumbled deep in his chest. He was already annoyed with people and there were only 10 in the whole castle. He simple didn't want anyone else to come. Stretching himself out, he silently condemned himself to his fate. If he didn't get moving now, he'd miss everyone getting off, and then Dumbledore would pull him aside from one of his 'special' talks, and then Harry would  _really_ have something to complain about.

He started jogging down one of the forest's many paths, his feet padding softly against the foliage. Stopping right inside the forest's edge he took a deep breath and willed himself to change. It always took him longer to change back than to change into his bobcat form. It was just so hard to  _want_ to go back to the life he'd never wanted. Eventually he managed it, his bones shifting underneath him and clothes moving to replace his fur. It was always an uncomfortable experience to have to learn how to walk on two legs again, but he got the hang of it fairly quickly, and in no time, he was standing by the train, watching as Hogwarts students were starting to climb off.

Luna Lovegood was the first to see him. She waved, the strange glasses she wore bobbing up and down on her face. He nodded to her, turning away and hoping she wouldn't come over and talk to him. Fortunately, she seemed to get the message. The girl might have been crazy, but she wasn't stupid. Besides, Harry couldn't blame her for believing in some crazy things. If putting on some glasses and saying Narwhales caused wars took away all his worries, he'd do it too.

Eventually, Granger and Weasley came off. Always the last ones. Though he wished they would hurry. He always got bored just standing here, having everyone stare at him without being able to throw something at them. Granger came up to him, hesitating on the balls of her feet as she always did. He stepped away, just to remove any temptation she might have had about hugging him.

"Harry," she smiled blandly. "You look good."

"Yes," he answered, forcing his lips up into a half smile. "Thank you. As do you."

"Shall we go up?" Weasley asked and Harry nodded.

They managed to find a carriage all to themselves, mostly because Harry slammed the door on the kid behind them's face. He flicked his eyes past the threstrals pulling their carriage pretending not to see them because normal people didn't see the threstrals.

"How have you been?" Granger asked once they were all seated. Though she was sitting across from him, she felt the need to lean forward and invade his person space. Why? He couldn't begin to understand, but it wasn't like he could push her away. People tended to be offended when he did that. "How was your summer?"

"Didn't I say enough in my letters?" he muttered, resisting the urge to sneer at her. For someone so smart, she always had a tendency to ask such stupid questions.

"Harry, you said practically nothing in your letters," Weasley answered, mimicking Granger's leaning forward motion. And Harry couldn't help himself, he snapped away from them, pushing himself back into the seat.

"Oh, Harry," Granger breathed, shifting back and putting her head in her hands.

"Can't you see why we're worried?" Weasley insisted. No. No, he really couldn't. They weren't friends. They hadn't been for a long time. Even before Harry had started playing them for all they were worth, they hadn't been friends. They were only interested in him because of his name. His name and his scar, just like everyone else. He saw it in their eyes then, and he saw it in their eyes now.

"There's nothing to worry about. It's been a long day, is all."

"But-."

"Oh, look," Harry interrupted. "The carriage has stopped." He flung open the door, leaving Granger and Weasley in the carriage to sort out their feeling. He figured he now had a good excuse for ignoring them if nothing else.

He padded along the path, slipping through the traffic of the other kids and ignoring the people who tried to talk to him. After what felt like forever, he managed to slip into the great hall, seating himself at the very end of the Gryffindor table and planning to escape in the middle of the feast. Almost as soon as the thought crossed his mind, however, Severus caught his eye and scowled. Harry scowled right back, was Severus really expecting him to sit through the entire thing? He hoped Severus' delusions about Harry's character weren't  _that_ strong.

Granger and Weasley came in a second later, sitting by him with pitying looks, as if  _that_  would make him feel better. Almost as soon as they were seated, the sorting began. Harry didn't bother to pay attention; he didn't care who went in what house as long as they all stayed out of his way.

Then Dumbledore rose, commanding everyone's attention in a heartbeat. He raised both his hands before him, showcasing his withered and dead one for everyone to see. Immediately, whispers broke out among the students, some pointing, others just looked on in shock.

"What happened?" Granger hissed, turning to him. He just shrugged, keeping his eyes on Dumbledore, who smiled and continued speaking as if nothing had happened. Granger frowned, but turned her attention back to the front after a moment.

"This year, we are welcoming a new member of staff," Dumbledore swept his good hand down the table. "Professor Malfoy will be taking over the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts this year." Another round of whispers broke out, shooting down the tables as Lucius Malfoy stood and bowed to the room. Harry raised an eyebrow, he hadn't even noticed Lucius had been sitting behind the staff table. Though he had to admit, bringing Lucius into the staff was a plausible excuse for keeping him here, even if it was risky.

"What!" Weasley exclaimed.  _"He_ 's teaching us how to defend from the dark arts. That's a laugh, more like he'll be  _teaching_ dark arts." Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes, instead flashing them to the Slytherin table and catching a pair of silver-grey ones.

Apparently, Weasley wasn't the only one who wasn't happy with the news. Draco Malfoy glared across the great hall, first up at his father and then flicking over to Harry. He was barely even out of the infirmary with scarring all up his throat and eyes that to anyone else would only have been angry.

Harry saw the pain in them though. He saw how tired Draco was. And he found himself unintentionally involved. He  _shouldn't_ care about Draco's life or whether he was still angry with his father or not. He'd never cared about things like that before, but looking at those brooding silver-grey eyes, something deep in his chest stirred.

He waited for the feeling to pass. To go away and not come back like it always did, but it stayed pushing at his ribs and making him continue to stare at the blonde head. He hadn’t lied to Severus; he didn’t care about Draco, refused to care about him. If he hadn’t exactly told the truth about why he was still staring across the room at him—even after Draco had frowned and turned away—well, no one but him needed to know.

* * *

Severus sat in his seat throughout the feast and ate his dinner. His head hurt, and he wanted nothing more than to leave, but did he? No, he didn't. Did the insufferable boy he was charged with stay? No, no, he didn't. Harry Potter spent about 10 straight minutes staring across the great hall at Draco Malfoy as if he was  _trying_ to draw attention. If Severus was closer, we would have smacked him in the back of the head. Well, no, he wouldn't have. His head didn't hurt enough for him to make a mistake like that. Though he did  _want_ to. Eventually, Harry looked away. His eyes flicked up to Severus for half a second before he stood and walked out of the great hall, not even bothering to look back.

"Is he allowed to do that?" Lucius whispered, raising an eyebrow after Harry.

"As if he cares," Severus snorted.

"And the staring, what was that about?"

"As if I know."

"He didn't tell you?" Lucius asked, turning to him with gleaming silver-grey eyes. Severus immediately looked away. It was the first time they'd talked since Lucius had left him half-conscious in his room. Not that Lucius was about to say anything about it. In his mind, he'd probably done nothing wrong. He probably didn't think Severus was even upset.

And he wasn't. He didn't care that Lucius didn't talk to him. He didn't care that Lucius had loved Narcissa. He'd stopped caring about little things like that a long time ago.

"He told me," Severus sighed. "I just sincerely doubt he told me the truth."

"Ah, well teenagers can be like that. They throw you to the pits of Hell when you're just trying to help." Lucius set his fork down with a loud clatter, though his face remained unchanged.

"Something the matter with Draco, Lucius?"

"Hmm," he blinked as if the question was absurd. "Of course not. Draco is fine. Everything is fine between us." Severus resisted the impulse to point out that he hadn't asked if everything was fine between them, just if Draco was.

"And how is his private room?"

"Good," Lucius answered, averting his eyes again. "He likes it very much."

"And you, Lucius, Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor?"

"What about it?"

"You hate children."

"No, Severus," Lucius answered, his lips twitching once as he continued to look out at the great hall.  _"You_ hate children. I never had a problem with them."

"You always had a problem," Severus answered, carefully cutting a piece of meat on his plate. "That is, until Narcissa wanted a child." There was a beat and he wanted to smack _himself_ in the back of the head. How could he say something like that when Lucius was still mourning his wife, even if he refused to show it.

"As you say," he answered, his mouth turning down. He was always frowning around Severus, never smiling, no matter what Severus did.

And Severus hated himself for noticing.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for all the Kudos! Don't forget to leave a comment!


	9. How to Hate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry saves Draco from a tight spot.

It had been his third year, and he had been stuck under the Womping Willow, and he'd been standing in front of Lupin and Sirius and listening to them try and defend themselves. It had been pitiful really, the way they'd talked. The way they'd insisted that Sirius was innocent. He supposed he was supposed to care. He was supposed to stand up and love his godfather and realize that he would have been there for him if he could have.

Except, he could've, and he hadn't been.

Instead Sirius Black had chosen to carry out a vendetta against Peter Pettigrew or Wormtail or whatever anyone wanted to call him. And even when he'd escaped from Azkaban had Sirius tried to help him? Had Sirius even tried contact him? No, he'd left him crying and cowering and empty at his aunt and uncle's house because it had been convenient for Sirius.

Lupin was even worse. He'd wormed his way into his trust throughout the year. He could still remember being terrified of the Dementors and asking Lupin for help. He should have asked Snape. If he'd asked Snape, he would never have gotten attached to Lupin. But he didn't ask Snape because he was hurt, and he was sure he meant nothing to him.

So, Lupin had helped him. He'd tutored him and talked to him and listened to him in a way that no one else ever had. And all the while Lupin had known that Sirius Black—the man that could have been his salvation—was right outside the castle. He'd known, and he'd looking him straight in the eyes and Lupin had lied. He should have listened when Snape told him not to trust Lupin.

"Maybe he truly cares for me," had been his response because he couldn't accept the fact that no one could possibly care about him.

"Lupin has an ulterior motive," Snape had answered, dark eyes so cold he wanted to shiver. He remembered thinking that Lupin never looked at him like that. "He doesn't care about you, Harry, he cares about himself."

"You don't know that."

"I know that love doesn't come without a price," Snape answered. "No matter how much we wished it did."

He should have listened. He should have known better. No, he did know better. He had just forgotten, and he wouldn't make the same mistake twice.

So, he'd stood behind Snape and he'd looked at Sirius Black and Remus Lupin with empty eyes. He'd let Snape hex Black into unconsciousness and then turn him into the dementors. Lupin hadn't fought, it'd been too close to the full moon for that. Fortunately, Snape had gotten them out of the way before anything could happen.

He'd refused to help when Dumbledore had said there was a chance at saving Sirius Black. He didn't care if there was a chance. If it were up to him, he'd let Sirius Black be kissed. He'd send him back to Azkaban to rot. Maybe he didn't commit the crime he was accused of, but he was still guilty of plenty. So, Hermione had gone by herself, insisting that she couldn't stand by and do nothing. He supposed she had saved him, he'd never asked.

He ignored the looks of disbelief in Ron and Hermione's eyes as they watched him. They didn't understand. They didn't understand how he could be so cold to someone he was supposed to love.

Severus had understood though. He sat on the end of his bed and watched him cry. Not because he was sad or upset but because he was angry. For the first time in his life, he was really and truly angry. For the first time in his life, he felt like he understood Voldemort. He would burn the world down if he had the chance. He would burn the world down and leave everyone who had every hurt him to die. He would watch their ashes smolder and then walk away, never giving them the curtesy to think of them ever again, because they didn't deserve it.

"Does it ever go away?" he'd asked, still sobbing into the sheets of his hospital bed. Severus had just looked at him, his dark eyes wide and thoughtful. "This  _hate_ , does it ever go away?" he'd asked again, because he'd needed an answer. He needed it like he needed to breath.

"Eventually," Severus answered.

"And is it better?"

"No, no, it's not better," a pause. "Because then you're left with nothing but the exhaustion."

"I hate it!" he'd answered. "I hate them! I hate Dumbledore! I hate this hospital! I hate the world! I hate you!" he snarled though Severus didn't even bother to flinch. "I hate-," he hiccupped, covering his face again.

Severus said nothing, his dark eyes tired and steady. Severus' hand reached out and smoothed down his back. It was the last straw; the final blow. He didn't deserve that kindness. His uncle had told him and the children in his school had agreed. Even his Godfather had wanted nothing to do with him. How could Severus even touch him knowing how dirty and worthless he truly was?

"I hate this feeling. Why do I have to feel it at all? Why… do I…" He pressed his nails against the side of his face, wanting to claw to rip to scream to tear, but knowing he wouldn't do any of that. At least, not while Severus was there. "I hate myself."

"I know," Severus answered quietly, his hand still stroking smoothly down his back.

* * *

"How's your room working out?" Lucius asked, his head cocked as if he truly cared. Draco blinked at him; they both knew his father didn't give two cents whether he liked his room or not. Lucius' eyes tightened at his blatant refusal to talk to him; the closest thing to anger Draco would get out of him. Funny, the sight of his father's eyes tightening used to send Draco running for the hills, now he was just angry right back.

"Draco-."

"If you have something to say, I suggest you say it," Draco interrupted, his eyes set in a firm glare. Oh, he knew his father hated it when he showed his emotions so openly, but right then, he didn't care. He just wanted his father to  _know_ how angry he was. He wanted him to know how hurt he was. "Because I really don't want to look at your face for a second longer." Lucius' lips tightened and for a moment, Draco really believed his father would yell at him. Then Lucius relaxed, still looking down at him with an air of disapproval.

"Very well," he said slowly, in full control of himself. "If you need me, you know where I'll be." Draco snorted, and his father's eyes flashed dangerously. He turned on his heel and stalked away from Draco. Lucius took most of Draco's anger along with him, leaving Draco feeling empty. He took a step back, leaning against the wall and sighing heavily.

It had weeks since he'd been bitten, and he could feel the changes that had worked their way through his bones. With each passing day, he could feel the full moon drawing steady nearer, calling to the restless beast he now knew he held inside of himself. A shiver passed through him; it wasn't that he was scared. No, not scared, just…. tense. It was his first transformation, it was supposed to be painful. Especially, when everyone wanted to shoot him up with Wolf's Bane and lock him in a room somewhere like they'd always done to Lupin. Merlin, it sounded…. horrible.

"Oh," the familiarly girlish voice sounded. "Look who it is." Draco tilted his head to get a good look at that pug like face, his nose crinkling with annoyance.

"Go annoy someone else, Pansy."

"Oh, you're no fun anymore, Drakey," she answered, stepping closer. Theodore Nott was right behind her, flanked by Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle, and Draco knew he was in trouble. "What with you father betraying He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and all."

"Oh, yeah," Theodore stepped forward, effectively corning Draco against the wall. He straightened, glaring between the two of them haughtily. "My father told me all about that. How your whole family was a bunch of traitors."

"I prefer to think we were saving our skins from a madman," Draco answered.

"How dare you," Pansy started, stepping forward and slapping him across the face. Draco narrowed his eyes, getting ready to launch himself at her.

"Now, Draco," Theodore scolded, stepping right up into his personal space. "Are you sure you want to do that." His eyes flicked back to the Slytherins standing behind him, smiling and looking brutish. "It's funny," Theodore's smile widened, raising his hands to grab hold of Draco's school robes. Draco tried to wiggle away but Vincent and Greg were suddenly there, taking hold of him, slamming him back and against the wall. "Pansy and I have been waiting ages to get you alone, so we could have our way with you." Draco felt himself swallow nervously, getting ready for the beating that was sure to occur.

"And what exactly would you be planning to do here, Nott?" A new voice asked, making everyone jump. Theodore and Pansy whirled around, eyes widening as they faced Potter. He was leaning on the wall next to a suit of armor, twirling his wand between his fingers and looking on at the scene as if he were bored.

"We were just having a bit of fun, Potter," Theodore said, stepping away from Draco quickly. Vincent and Greg quickly followed his lead, letting go of Draco and stepping out of reach.

"Hmm," Potter answered, raising an eyebrow. He didn't move, he just continued to lean on the wall looking for all the world as if he was completely relaxed. The Slytherins, however, were obviously panicked, sweating and shifting nervously. "Funny thing though," Potter said finally, "it didn't look to me as if Malfoy was having fun." He turned his emerald green eyes on Draco, intense and calculating. "Were you?"

"I…" his voice sounded scratchy when he tried to talk, so he cleared his throat and tried again. "I don't need your help." Potter had the galls to smile. Slow, cold, cruel.

"It's not about help," he answered, turning his eyes back to the Slytherins. "It's about these fools doing what they’re told. What did I say I would do to you if I saw you so much as  _looking_ at anyone else wrong?"

"Please," Pansy suddenly stepped forward, her voice low and pleading. "Please, we didn't mean it." Potter crossed his arms, looking down at her with no pity in his eyes. Draco shivered, Potter looked… he looked as if Pansy could drop dead right in front of him and he couldn't care less.

"You did mean it," Potter murmured, his wand suddenly clasped in his hand and pointed at Pansy as if he were about to curse her. "You always mean it. You hurt, and you hurt, and you hurt, and you consider yourselves untouchable. And you never regret the pain-," Potter's voice suddenly broke, he was clutching his wand so hard his knuckles were turning white, his green eyes cast in shadows of anger and pain, and Draco was suddenly very concerned Potter was going to cast one of the unforgivables on her.

"Potter," he said quietly. His eyes snapped up, locking on Draco. He blinked once, twice and then finally seemed to shake himself out of his daze. He looked down at Pansy, still shivering before him.

"Get away from me, the lot of you." He snarled, and the Slytherins did, scrambling across the corridor and out of sight. Potter put his back against the wall, leaning his head back to stare at the ceiling. The pose was so similar to how Draco had just been standing, except when Potter raised his hand to brush the hair out of face, his hands were trembling violently.

"I've never seen them act like that," he said. "What did you do to them?" and Potter let out a strangled chuckle.

"I may have transfigured Pansy into a cricket once."

"What? But... I would have heard if that had happened?" Draco stuttered, blinking over at him. "How did you get away with something like that?"

"It wasn't that hard," Potter shrugged. "Dumbledore and Severus knew of course, but Dumbledore is afraid to punish me. Severus gave me detention, though I secretly think he was glad I did it."

"Oh," Draco answered, shifting on his feet. He didn't know what he was supposed to do with that information. Normally he would have walked away, it wasn't his problem, whatever Potter had wrong with him. But Potter  _had_  just helped him—no, Potter may have just done a lot more than help him. And the way he was leaning against the wall, his hands clenched and his head back—it looked a lot like how Draco  _felt._ Draco crossed the small space and leaned against the wall beside Potter.

"What do you want?" Potter asked, not bothering to move.

"Why do I have to want anything?" he answered, and Potter looked over at him. His face was deathly pale, his eyes red as if he were on the verge of tears, and Draco suddenly really didn't understand Potter at all. Why did he run around acting as if he didn't care about anything or anyone if he was really this fragile? Why did he act untouchable if it was this easy to break him?

"Have you forgotten our talk so soon, Draco?" Potter sneered, his lips twisting in an ugly smile, almost as if he could read what Draco had thought about him. " _Everyone_  has ulterior motives."

"Really?" Draco raised an eyebrow, unperturbed. "Then what were yours?"

"What?"

"Why did you help me?" Draco clarified. "In fact, it sounded like I'm not the only one you've stopped those idiots from hurting. But I thought you didn't care."

"I don't,” and he didn’t even hesitate as he said it. But that didn’t stop Draco from staring at him, because he just _knew_ Potter wasn’t telling the truth.

"So, then why didn't you just keep walking. Or turn the other eye," he asked. Potter was silent, just continuing to stare at up him. "Does it have something to do with the way you talked to them? Has someone hurt you?"

"You don't know anything about it," Potter snapped, flinched away as if Draco had burned him. Draco put on the brakes. He hadn’t been expecting that reaction and judging by the way Potter was eyeing him defensively they were only going to go backward if he kept pushing now. He'd have to find a way to get it out of Potter later.

"You're right, I don't," he said, forcing his voice to be soft. Unfortunately, Potter seemed to see right through him, his eyes flashing with hurt and anger. The anger Draco understood, but the hurt, he didn't.

"Why do you want to know so badly, Malfoy?" Potter asked, pulling away from the wall abruptly. "You want to laugh at The famous Boy Who Lived? Know all my dark little secrets, so you can sell them to the newspapers?"

"Potter-," Draco started to move with him, but Potter was suddenly there, leaning over him and getting into his personal space. Draco's heart beat erratically as he felt Potter's breath against his cheek.

"Let me tell you a secret, Draco," Potter murmured, his voice low and full of uncontrolled spite. "Everyone has an ulterior motive and you're no bloody exception." Then Potter shoved Draco back, sending him back against the wall still glaring down at him. "You don't want to know about me, so don't ask." And he was turning on his heel and stalking away, disappearing in the opposite direction as the Slytherins.

Draco sighed. Potter was wrong; Draco did want to know. He just didn't understand _why_ he wanted to know. It wasn't that he cared. No, he definitely didn't care. He was just curious. He was curious about what could have broken someone like Potter so completely. He was curious if the same thing could possibly happen to him.


	10. The Fears They Hold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The characters have a heart to heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Mildly Descriptive Intercourse, M/F and M/M

Severus Snape was the most oblivious person he had ever met, shrugging off his advanced as if they were nothing and turning his greasy head whenever he so much as looked at him. Had Severus no idea the favor he was doing him? Had Severus no idea the pleasure, the power, the love he could give him. No, it was as if none of that mattered.

So, he moved on. It was perfectly easy. As easy as it always was for him to look away when a pretty face drew his attention.  _But Severus_  wasn't  _just a pretty face,_ he thought and then quickly shoved the thought back, telling himself it wasn't true; it didn't matter.

He was a pure blood wizard with his face in the papers and his name ready to inherit millions of galleons. Who cared whether a nobody who was still at Hogwarts cared to look at him or not? Certainly not him.

Still, he found himself stuck. Yearning for something unidentifiable and insatiable. He would snare women and invite them into his bed, laying sprawled out with his hands relaxed beside him and refusing to move while they writhed over him. This was for his pleasure, not theirs.

"Lucius," they would moan, rocking up and down on top of him. And even though it was… pleasurable, and he found himself inevitably more relaxed after he kicked them out of his bed and consequently out of his house, it was never enjoyable. It never scratched the itch that clawed through him.

He even tried men. And while he absolutely refused to bottom for anyone, he let some get very close. He let them run their fingers against his entrance, their tongues, sometimes he allowed their fingers to enter him, sometimes he even reveled in the shock of pleasure it caused him. But he never enjoyed it. He never sought a man out for the pure enjoyment of sex and love and desire. He always went searching because he simply couldn't stand the infuriating yearning that left a burning hole in his belly.

He didn't see Severus again until he was 23. He knew Severus was out of Hogwarts now, had been for a while now. He was apparently starting an apprenticeship to become a potion master. They had never stopped talking, though the letters had gotten more taciturn and less frequent as the years past. He hadn't meant to do it, but every time he looked at Severus, he could still feel the sting of that final year at Hogwarts. Those looks between them that had never come to anything because Severus had never wanted them to.

They met by accident. He was walking through an old shop, picking up some things he didn't trust his house-elves to get for him. He was preoccupied, not looking where he was going when someone slammed into him. They both went down in a tangle of limbs, faces shoved awkwardly together. He opened his mouth to snap something obscene at the man who'd brought him down and then immediately closed it again when he saw who it was.

Severus had blinked up at him, his dark eyes wide and full of surprise. And he knew he should move; he should disentangle himself and apologize and stand and maybe just walk away and preserve some of his dignity, but he couldn't do anything but sit and stare as he sat with his legs tangled and Severus practically in his lap.

Severus looked so different, all high cheekbones with wide dark eyes. He'd gained weight, and his hair was longer, brushing across his face and folded behind his ears. And yet, he was completely the same, still too little fat, with oily hair, and those dark eyes that looked so confused and defensive.

"Um," Severus cleared his throat, shifting on his lap. "Lucius…"

"Hmm…?" he hummed, still entranced.

"Lucius, would you mind," Severus shifted again, and this time he noticed the blush that flashed across Severus' face before he swallowed and looked away.

"Right, of course," he pulled his legs back, standing slowly to help Severus to his feet. When they were both standing, he took Severus in again, flicking his eyes up and down as the fire began to ignite in his belly and burn its way through him. It was stronger than it had ever been before. An irresistible wildfire that took control of him and made it impossible to think.

"Well," Severus cleared his throat, moving away as if his gaze was uncomfortable. He couldn't help the smile that spread across his lips. "I should be going, then." He'd stopped him with an outstretched arm and a brief touch. Severus had jumped and then frozen, looking up at him with wide dark eyes that were a second away from becoming defensive.

"Would you like a drink, instead?" he'd asked.

It hadn't been a good idea. It hadn't been a good idea to bring Severus home and seduce him until he was begging to be fucked into the couch. They'd both been a little too drunk. Well, Severus had been a little drunk; Lucius had just been a little drunk on desire. And for the first time in his life, he had truly enjoyed sex. He had fallen asleep completely satisfied and with every intention of repeating the experience every chance he got.

He'd woken up to an empty bed and a Severus who had refused to even answer his owls.

* * *

 "Do you ever think about it?" Lucius asked, staring down in his tea and wishing it was something stronger. He glanced up, meeting dark eyes that were studying him with their usual intensity. They were having their daily tea, drinking in Lucius' chambers and pretending they were two normal people who had no cares in the world. It wasn't true though; they both knew it.

Lucius returned Severus' intense look, waiting for a response that he knew would come when Severus was ready. Lucius almost sighed, almost. They were always so careful around each other; never letting anything slip. They'd know each other since Hogwarts, and they'd never really trusted each other. He didn't even know how he convinced Severus to come over for tea; it wasn't as if the man was particularly fond of the practice or of Lucius in general. Though he supposed it was always better to keep your enemies close.

"About what?"

"About when we were younger," Lucius answered after another moment of silence between them. "When we truly believed in Lord Voldemort and everything he stood for?" Severus just pursed his lips and looked away. "When everything was simple."

"Nothing was simple."

"No?"

"No."

"And why not," Lucius snapped. "Why is now better than then?" He sneered, his fingers tightening dangerously around his tea cup.

"I never said now was better," Severus answered, blinking one long slow blink, completely unperturbed by Lucius' outburst. "I said it was never simple."

"And why is that?" Lucius asked, looking down at his tea and trying to understand why Severus' words put him so much on edge. He knew Severus didn't care. Had stopped caring himself a long time ago.

"I never truly believed in The Dark Lord, Lucius. You know that. I joined because you wanted me to, because you asked me to, because it was something you believed in and you couldn't possibly be wrong," Severus answered, placing his tea on the table and turning his face away from Lucius' stunned expression. "When I wasn't scared, I was angry. People were dying, everyone was dying. Whether I believed in pure blood laws or not, muggles weren’t the only ones who were getting killed. Everyone was. It was only a matter of time before I did. I was pretending all the time, pretending to be something I wasn’t just so I wouldn't be killed for a cause I didn't believe in."

"That's why you turned traitor?" Lucius whispered. He felt numb. He hadn't known, he  _should_ have known, he should have  _seen_ , but he had been wrapped up in his own feelings of betrayal—rightly so, he reminded himself—that he hadn't paid attention to Severus' feelings. Pain flashed across Severus' face, gone so fast Lucius almost missed it entirely. "Severus?"

"It doesn't matter," he cleared his throat and suddenly his mask was back in place. All cold eyes and unreadable expression, his hands wrapped around his tea cup as he raised it to his mouth.

"It obviously matters if I asked."

"No."

"No?"

"No."

"And why not?"

"Well, you didn't want to know at the time, did you?" Severus answered, his dark eyes flicking to Lucius and then away. He glared at his window as if  _it_ was the cause of all their problems.

"Are you talking about…" Lucius trailed off, unable to keep the pain out of his voice. And then immediately feeling all the more the fool for it. It had been  _years_ , he told himself. It didn't matter anymore. It couldn't hurt him anymore.

Except that it did. And it could.

"I think I'll leave now," Severus answered, standing with his usual lack of grace and crossing the room with long quick strides. And suddenly Lucius wanted to  _hurt_ him, hurt him the way Lucius hurt every time he had to look at Severus and think about how he chased after the girl with the red hair and the green eyes as if Lucius had never been in love with him.

"Run away, Sev," he murmured, his voice cooing mockingly across the room in what he knew Severus would catch to be an imitation. An imitation of that sweet voice that they both knew had never spoken, had never looked at, had never loved Severus as Lucius had. "It's what you're good at. After all, the only thing you actually chased…." Severus stiffened as he trailed off, his hand an inch from the door, waiting for the words they both knew were coming. "Well, we both know what happened to her, don't we?"

The door slammed behind him, and Lucius finally allowed himself to sigh, putting his head in his hands and letting the tea cup clatter across the table without a care of whether is broke or not. He looked down at his hands when he felt a wetness there and realized it had come from him; he had started to cry. Cry over the damage  _he_ had caused like a love-sick teenager. As if it mattered anymore. As if it could hurt him.

* * *

"Will you  _stop_ following me around?" Harry asked, not even bothering to turn at the sound of approaching footsteps.

"Why?" Malfoy's voice echoed down the corridor, sending thrills through Harry that felt a lot less like annoyance than he would have preferred.

"Because I want you to," he turned, raising an unimpressed eyebrow at the other boy. Malfoy just stared at him, his silver-grey eyes startlingly intense in the low light of the corridor. "Because you're bothering the living Hell out of me?"

"Is that why you're always alone?" Malfoy asked, stepping closer as if Harry hadn't just told him to back off.

"Yes."

"Doesn't it ever get lonely?" Malfoy raised an eyebrow like he didn't believe him.

"I don't know," Harry tilted his head to the side as if he was seriously the considering the question. "Do you ever annoy yourself?" Malfoy blinked once, twice and then his eyes flashed with anger, finally dropping his guise of friendliness to glare. Harry felt a thrill go through him; he was tired of dealing with people who were just interesting in manipulating him, and for some reason when he broke through Malfoy's mask, he felt a horrible sense of satisfaction that he didn't know he was capable anymore.

"Why are you such an arse?" Malfoy asked.

"Why are you  _really_  following me?" Harry answered, soaking in the anger rippling across Malfoy's face.

"I'm just…" Malfoy started, his lips twisting in his trademark sneer. But when Harry raised his eyebrow, Malfoy seemed to change his mind, narrowing his eyes defensively. "I thought you didn't care."

"Well, if it gets you to leave me alone…" Harry shrugged.

"There's not much else to do but follow you around, Potter." Malfoy rolled his eyes, relaxing his shoulders as if Harry's comment had relaxed him. "I hate to say it, but you're the most interesting thing in this castle right now."

"Really? So, this has nothing to do with the full moon next week, huh?"

"No," Malfoy's lips tightened to a painful degree. Harry raised an eyebrow and then shrugged.

"Alright."

"What?"

"I said alright. Your pain isn't my problem."

"I…" Malfoy stared at him, trailing off as if he didn't have an answer to that. And he probably didn't. Harry resisted the urge to sneer. Spoiled little pure blood that he was, everyone probably always made sure everything _was_ about him. Harry cast him one last bored look before turning on his heel and beginning to walk down the corridor. He stopped about a yard away, noticing there were no footsteps behind him.

He glanced back over his shoulder at Malfoy, who was still standing in the middle of the corridor and staring after him. His silver-grey eyes were wide and full of emotions that Harry knew all too well. Fear, confusion, anger, and that horrible overpowering defeat, so powerful Harry could see the straight-line path Malfoy would follow if someone didn't tell him that no matter how much caring hurt—it still felt better than the pit that Harry had descended into and had no inclination of how to get out of.

"What? You're suddenly not going to follow me anymore?" he asked. Malfoy stared at him for another heartbeat before scrambling forward and coming level with him in the corridor.

"I thought you wanted me to leave you alone?" Malfoy asked. He just shrugged, leading the way down the hall and up several flights of stairs. It wasn't far, but it always felt that way when he bothered to climb up to the tower. "Where are we going?"

"A place I like to go when I'm upset."

"I'm not upset," Malfoy answered immediately. Harry decided it would be best to just ignore him while he was being stupid.

"Severus showed it to me once and it's kind of just stuck with me. I was never sure why; I suppose I just have my moments like everyone else," Harry spoke while pushing open the door to the astronomy tower. It wasn't particularly pretty or nice, but there was a kind of peace there that helped Harry to think when he needed to. He walked the short distance to the edge of the tower, wrapping his hands around the rails and looking over the side. It was about noon, and there were people strewn across the front lawn of Hogwarts in groups, talking and laughing and doing school work like any other normal weekend. He didn't bother to come up here near as much since he'd perfected his Animagus form, but he suddenly realized how much he'd missed the cool breeze on his face and the peace of being so high you could fall, and no one would ever be able to save you.

"I've never been up here before," Malfoy muttered, drawing up to the rail alongside Harry.

"I'm not surprise. Most people haven't."

"How did Severus know about it?"

"Your father."

"What?" Malfoy's head whipped around to stare at him, his silver-grey eyes wide in disbelief. "My father showed him this place?"

"Yes, they were very close in school."

"I…" Malfoy blinked, looking back down with a thoughtful expression. "I didn't know." Harry just shrugged as if the whole thing could mean less to him. There was long silence before Draco spoke again, turning back to Harry with a burning intensity that sent a chill down his spine. And… he didn't hate it.

But he wished he could.

"Why did you bring me here?" Malfoy asked.

"I didn't  _bring_  you anywhere. I walked, and you followed."

"And why do you always lie about everything?" Malfoy frowned, his voice pitching in frustration. "Why can't you just admit that you care?"

"Why can't you admit that you're afraid?" Harry answered, his head still turned toward the ground. He wouldn't give Malfoy the satisfaction of getting a reaction from him. Not because Harry particularly cared about winning, but because this wasn't about them or him. This was about Malfoy.

"I'm not afraid," Malfoy answered, his angled aristocratic face immediately closing off. Harry ignored him; he was being stupid again.

"The real question isn't even whether you're scared or not; it's why." Harry continued. "I suppose it could be that you're just scared of the transformation or of how people will treat you. Maybe you don't like how your father will look at you after he sees you transform, but I really think it's something more than that…." Harry trailed off as if he were thinking about what to say next when he really already knew. "If I had to guess, I would say you're more worried about the wolfsbane, right? You're worried about being locked up and left to scream in pain alone in a dungeon as if no one cared about you. As if you were as unimportant as Remus-."

"Alright!" Draco snapped, his hands tightening painfully around the rails in front of them. "Alright, I'm terrified! I'm terrified of being locked up and left to turn by myself. Everyone says it's supposed to be so painful and I- I just-," he closed his eyes, dropping his head and letting his blonde hair fall to cover his face as if he couldn't bear for Harry to look at him. Harry let him stew for a moment before speaking again.

"So, then why do it that way?"

"What?" Malfoy jumped, his hands tightening on the rail so much his knuckles turned white.

"Why take the wolfsbane if you don't want to?"

"I… I don't have a choice. It's the only way…"

"There's always another way," Harry answered, finally allowing his head to turn around and look straight into Malfoy's silver-grey gaze. It felt better than he was willing to admit. "You  _never_ have to do what other people want you to. You never have to  _be_ what other people want you to."

"I..." Malfoy swallowed uncomfortably, his eyes flicking away for a moment before coming back to lock on Harry's. "My father wouldn't understand."

"Screw your father, then. This is your life, Draco, not his." Harry answered, his voice so low he wasn't sure if Malfoy could actually hear him anymore. "There's nothing wrong with being afraid."

"Says the boy who insists he doesn't care about anything."

"Trust me," Harry said, his lips twisting in a bitter kind of smile. "You don't want to be me. You want to be anything but me." Malfoy looked at him for a beat, his silver-grey eyes intense as he took Harry in in a way Harry thought no one ever had before.

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Call it pity," Harry shrugged. Malfoy spent an even longer time looking at him after that. Just looking. And eventually Harry had to drop his gaze in a way he hadn't had to do in a long time. When he looked again, Malfoy was smiling. It was a slow, knowing smile that hit Harry right in the core of his being and made him never want to look away.

It was the kind of smile he was so used to running from.

 


	11. Worth Something More

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco makes a decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: References to Rape

In his fourth year, he wasn't surprised when the school turned on him. He wasn't even surprised when Ron followed their lead, turning his back and casting him aside as if he were worthless. He supposed he had known it had been coming. And yet, for some reason, even though he wasn't surprised, he still found himself hurt. He'd spent endless hours in Severus' private rooms, staring into the fire and wondering why he was crying as the fire and the anger and the hate washed through his body and made it hard to see straight.

He knew Severus was still there. He knew Hermione was talking to him. He knew that some people were pitying him. But he couldn't find it in the waves of hate that descending through him to care very much. What did it matter if they cared—if they were still on his side? Didn't he deserve their treatment of him anyway?

It was the strangest of things that broke him out of his melancholy. He'd been walking up the steps, thinking about the Triwizard's task that was the next day. Dragons. Severus had refused to help him, though he had happened to leave some very helpful books laying around. He supposed he should have been coming up with some kind of plan; he should have been thinking about how he could defeat the dragon, but he just couldn't find it in himself to care whether he lived through the first challenge.

He'd pushed open the door to the astronomy tower, stopping suddenly at the sound of giggling from within. There was a gasp and shuffling, and he'd decided he might as well just open the door the rest of the way. The door made a loud scrapping sound as he came into the room and the sound suddenly stopped.

"Harry!" Chang said, peeling herself away from Diggory to look at him with wide startled eyes. "What are you…?" He looked at them, at their red swollen lips and disheveled clothes and had suddenly felt as if he were going to throw up. They had been… He turned his face away, swallowed hard and trying not to bolt out of the room as fast as humanly possible.

"Harry, are you alright?" Diggory had asked, stepping closer to him and reaching out as if he would touch him. He lurched away, hardly seeing Diggory. He only saw the hand, the hand that clawed and choked and hurt; violated. He doubled over and heaved, suddenly glad his stomach was empty—always empty—or he might have done more than just dry heave up on the floor.

Diggory hadn't understood. He'd sent Chang to get McGonagall, staying with him and trying to ask if he was alright, still trying to touch and calm as if he wanted Diggory anywhere near him after what he'd just seen. Why would anyone want... when it was nothing but painful? Eventually, he'd struck out at Diggory, catching him across the jaw and lurching out the tower door to stumble down the steps and make his way to Severus' chambers.

Diggory had tried to stop him the next morning, had tried to talk to him. He had let him. He had been stunned that Diggory hadn't taken the punch personally. He'd been even more stunned when Diggory talked to him as if he was a whole person, as if he wasn't broken, as if he wasn't worthless.

That two-minute conversation had affected him more than he cared to admit.

He'd let Cedric into his life more than he should have. He'd let the meetings on the top of the astronomy tower define him. He'd let Cedric's words invade his soul. He'd let Cedric brush his fingers across his skin without flinching away. Though never more than that, and Cedric never asked. Cedric was patient and kind and caring, and he showed him a kind of affection and love that he hadn't known existed before.

He'd let Cedric drain the anger away, leaving emotions that felt so good and so light that he never wanted to go back to the dark again. And yet, he should have known better than to believe the dark would stay away because he wished it to.

He'd let himself hope and fall when Cedric told him he'd broken up with Chang to be with him. He didn't argue as he should have. He'd just stared with wide eyes as Cedric told him he was in love with him.

He'd let himself fall in love with the boy with grey eyes and dark hair. The boy who wore yellow and taught him trust wasn't lost and that he wasn't worthless.

* * *

 

"And just what does that mean?" his father asked, face emotionless as he stared down at Draco. He was frustrated; Draco knew he was frustrated. They had both known an argument was coming. An argument that wouldn't give an answer Lucius would like. They were in Dumbledore's office with Draco seated in front of the desk and his father a little to the side, standing stiffly as Dumbledore himself looked on the scene with a troubled expression. Remus Lupin was on the other side of Dumbledore's desk, watching quietly but not contributing to the conversation.

"It means I want to do this my way," Draco answered, refusing to be intimidated. His father would not bully him into taking the wolfbane and going into a cellar just so he could feel better. Har- Potter was right; this was Draco's life.

"Draco," Dumbledore leaned forward, resting his hands on the desk as he studied Draco. His eyes were serious, their twinkle gone as he considered the situation before him. "I don't think you're aware of how grave-."

"I am," he interrupted.

"My boy-."

"No," Draco snapped, clamping his hands down on his chair to keep himself seated. "You don't understand, Professor. I will not be locked away like a dirty secret. I want to transform in the woods. Potter and I have worked it out between us and it-."

"Potter," Lucius answered, his silver-grey gaze narrowing on Draco's face. "So, this foolish plan was his idea, then?"

"No. I was the one who didn't want to use the wolfsbane."

"Draco," Lupin's voice sounded. It was quiet, reserved and yet it still sent a chill down Draco's spine that made him want to growl and pounce on the older werewolf. "The wolfsbane potion is the safest option."

"I know that," Draco answered, his hands tightening even further on the chair. He felt the wood begin the splinter under his fingers and consciously loosened his grip, looking away from Lupin so as not to attack him. "But it's not what I want."

"I think," his father said. "We should get Potter in here. See what he has to say for himself. In fact, while we're at it, why not have Severus tell us just why he should take the wolfsbane potions."

"Lucius," Dumbledore began, but Lucius was having none of it. His gaze shifted from Draco to Dumbledore, his emotionless mask almost gone in a blaze of horrible frustration. "Very well," Dumbledore sighed. He sent a message through the flu, summoning Severus and asking him to bring Potter as quickly as he could, though Draco had no delusions about either of them being cooperative about just coming running when they were called. Sure enough it took a horribly long time for them to show up and even when they did, they were not pleased.

Severus showed it with the deep scowl across his face as he crossed the room to stand beside Lucius, but Harry was different. His face was the same bitter mask it ever was, but there was more tension in his shoulders—more annoyance in the way he threw himself down in the chair next to Draco and raised his eyebrow at Dumbledore, his lips twisting in a sneer.

Draco wondered how he'd ever missed the subtly things in Harry that now seemed so obvious after the past couple weeks of watching him.

"My son," Lucius said, his gaze focused on Potter as he spoke. "Has decided he doesn't want to take the wolfsbane potions. He's decided he wants to run around in the forest as if he were a wild animal with no sense of propriety." His eyes narrowed as Potter just looked at him, blinking one long slow blink and looking completely unimpressed. "What do you have to say about this, Potter?"

"It doesn't exactly sound like my problem," he answered, returning Lucius' gaze easily. Lucius almost snarled; Draco could see the faint twist of his mouth as he caught himself at the last moment. He suddenly wished he wouldn't. He wished his father would just yell and tell him what he was actually thinking instead of trying to act like the perfect pureblood that was unaffected by anything. Draco wondered briefly is his father every got tired of the act—Draco was sure tired of acting himself.

"Really? Because I was under the distinct impression that you were the one who convinced him of this plan."

"This was my decision, father," Draco answered for him, narrowing him eyes at his father. Lucius kept his eyes on Potter, ignoring Draco completely.

"Why couldn't you just leave well enough alone, Potter?"

"I didn't do anything," Potter lied so easily Draco half wondered if he actually believed it was true. He leaned back in his chair, propping his foot up as if he couldn't care less what Lucius had to say. "It's not like I particularly care what happens to any of you."

"But I know you did something," Lucius said, stepping forward, his eyes gleaming with an uncontrolled anger. "You convinced him he didn't need the potion when he does. He can't just wander around in the forest as if he-," he stopped himself, his gaze flicking to Draco for half a second as he seemed to realize he was half a second away from crossing a line. His eyes moved to Severus, a silent plea in his eyes that took Draco by surprise. "Tell him, Severus. Tell him how he needs the potion." Severus was silent for a moment, his head bowed with his greasy black hair covering his face.

"Lucius," he said eventually, looking up. He looked tired, his dark eyes full of an emotion that Draco couldn't identify, but his father obviously could. Lucius took a step away from Severus, his mask revealing nothing. "He doesn't need to take the potion. It only suppresses the beast so he's able to think for himself, but if he's in the woods away from anyone, it shouldn't matter if he doesn't want to take it."

"You can't seriously condone-," Lucius started, gaping at Severus as if he'd been slapped. Draco felt stunned. He'd never seen his father look like that, not the hundreds of times his parents had argued, not when Lucius had scolded him, not when Draco had thrown his fits. Never had Lucius dropped his mask so completely.

Then Lucius stepped back again, closing his mouth and face off with an audible snap. He looked straight into Severus' eyes for another couple seconds before turning on his heel and leaving the office with a loud slam of the door. Severus watched him go, his eyes wide.

"I should…" Severus said, trailing off as his eyes stayed focused on the door. His gaze moved away to lock with Draco, sharing their startled confusion for half a second before Severus seemed to snap out of his trance. He looked over at Potter with a raised eyebrow. Potter shrugged, and Severus seemed to take that as an invitation to leave, sweeping out of the room with his cloak billowing behind him.

"Well," Potter said, stretching his arms forward and up and then standing. "This was exciting and all, but I do have other things to be doing…" Draco stood to follow him, having no intention of staying in that office with Remus Lupin and Dumbledore by himself.

"Wait," Lupin said, stepping forward. Potter paused, his shoulders tensing so much Draco was suddenly worried he would whip around and curse the man. Draco looked over, unsure if he was talking to Potter or him. "You father has a point, Draco," Lupin said, looking at him intently. "If you continue with this plan, a lot of people could get hurt—innocent people."

"There are no innocent people," Potter answered before Draco could. He still had his back to the other man, but his face was turned, his eyes flicked over and locked on the two of them with a cold green calculation. "There are those who deserve the fate they have and those who don't."

"Harry," Lupin said, stepping forward and reaching out as if he would touch Potter.

"Don't say my name," Potter flinched away from the hand, his face turning a strange sort of green. Lupin immediately withdrew, his face spread with remorse and pain. And suddenly Draco felt pity run through him—pity and curiosity. He wanted to know what Lupin had done to turn Potter against him because this—the way Potter was looking at him with the bitter set of his lips and the hate deep in his eyes—was obviously something personal.

"You don't have the right to say my name," Potter turned, facing Lupin completely now. "You don't have the right to give anyone advice and tell them how to live their life."

"I wasn't-."

"Piss off, Lupin," Potter answered, turning his back and storming out of the room after Lucius and Severus. Draco looked after him, wondering if he could get away with making his own dramatic exit or if four in a row would be too many.

* * *

Lucius knew he was being followed. He even knew it was Severus that was following him. He knew it by the uneven gait and shuffle of the cloak against the floor. He knew it because no one else was stupid enough to follow him when he was as liable to lose control and curse them as he was now.

But Severus just continued to follow him, keeping pace behind him until Lucius finally lost his patience. He turned on his heel, stopping so suddenly Severus almost tumbled into him, barely avoiding contact. They stared at each other for longer than was necessary as the last fight they'd had still hung heavy between them.

"What do you want?" Lucius asked finally, raising one pale eyebrow at him.

"Lucius," Severus answered, his voice low and carefully controlled as if he was afraid Lucius would step forward and hex him. Lucius lowered his head, dropping his gaze down to the narrow space between their feet—it was never hexing Severus had to worry about when Lucius was on the edge of control like this. "Lucius, I understand you're upset, but this isn't your decision to make."

"Upset!" Lucius let out a bitter laugh, keeping his eyes trained on the ground. "You understand that I'm upset," he laughed again though the idea really wasn't funny. Severus sighed, a long heaving sigh that told him a lot more than Severus would ever say out loud. It told him how hurt he still was, how much he cared, how tired he was. It told Lucius that if he didn't stop pushing, Severus would walk away, and he might never have a chance to pulling him back in again.

And as much as Lucius wished he could push and save them both a lot of pain, he knew he was just selfish enough to never cross too far over that line.

"I apologize," he stepped closer to Severus and reaching out to place a hand on his shoulder. Severus frowned, his lips curving down severely as he backed out of from under Lucius' hand.

"Come have tea, Lucius." Severus answered with another deep sigh. He turned, and began walking down the corridor, not even checking to make sure Lucius was behind him. Not that Lucius was foolish enough to risk ignoring a direct order from Severus in such a delicate situation.

"You're not going to apologize," Lucius asked, following the billowing cloak Severus always caused as he walked. "These things usually go both ways, you know."

"No."

"And why not?"

"Because I wouldn't mean it, and, unlike you, I don't apologize for things I don't mean," Severus answered, not even bothering to look over at him. Lucius tightened his grip on his cane but decided to let it go. For now.

It was a short walk back to Severus' private rooms, and with a quick wave of his wand, Severus had a hot tea pot on the low table between them and was holding out a teacup to Lucius—made exactly how he liked it. Lucius twisted his long hair over his shoulder, careful not to sit on it as he watched Severus sit down across from him, pouring his own tea and stirring the sugar without ever looking up at him.

"You're still angry with me," Lucius said, deciding it was best to simply skip the pleasantries for once. Severus dropped another spoon of sugar in his tea, two more than he usually had. He only had that amount of sugar when he was particularly upset, and Lucius had no delusions it was about anything but him.

"Your hair is down, Lucius," Severus answered, finally dropping the sugar spoon onto the table and looking up at him. "Care to tell me what you're really upset about? It's more than just Draco not wanting to take his potion."

"I-," Lucius broke off, running a hand through his platinum blonde hair that stopped somewhere in his lap. He knew it was foolish to leave his hair down like this. It inevitably became a mess that took forever to untangle at night but when he'd gotten up this morning, he just couldn't spare the time and thought to pull his hair up and into his ponytail or bun.

"Do you remember when you told me you were not afraid to admit your fear?" he asked eventually, the words coming slow and unplanned. It was unnatural, this sharing of weakness. But he also knew that he wanted to tell Severus what was bothering him. If anything, Severus might just say something helpful; he was good at that.

"Was this when we were arguing about the Dark Lord?" Severus asked, frowning as if trying to remember.

"Inevitably."

"What does this have to do with anything," Severus answered, his frown deepening in either annoyance or confusion- it was always hard to tell with Severus. "Does this have to do with the Dark Lord?"

"No. No, it has to do with Draco…" Lucius sighed, took a drink of tea and then sighed again. Severus opened his mouth in the following silence and then apparently decided it would be better to just let Lucius talk when he was ready, for he closed his mouth and took a drink of his own tea, scowling probably at the amount of sugar he'd put in.

"My father taught me fear is a weakness, Severus," he said eventually. "My father taught me that being anything but pureblood made you inferior."

"And do you still believe that?"

"Yes," Lucius answered, and then he paused and took another drink of tea. "But he's my son." He dropped his eyes, placing the tea down on the table and looking up at Severus as if he had the answers. Lucius so wished he had the answers. "He's my son, Severus. I raised him. I watched him grow from an infant to the teenager that he is now. A month ago, I would have told anyone who asked that my son was the embodiment of perfection." Severus seemed to stoop as if he could see what was coming, but Lucius just continued on, his voice stiff and emotionless. "Now he's polluted, corrupted, inferior. Why? Because of a werewolf bite that was not his fault. A little piece of fate that he didn't deserve." Lucius snorted, finally letting Severus' gaze go so he could turn his nose up at the cruelty of it all. "I just can't accept it."

"Then, don't," Severus answered, his voice was quiet and yet it echoed around in Lucius' head, making it impossible to think of anything else.

"How I wish it was that simple."

"And why isn't it?" Severus answered. He sounded annoyed, perhaps offended, but there was nothing Lucius could do about it. He couldn't just snap his fingers and change the way he'd been raised to believe after all. Severus stood, depositing his tea on the table next to Lucius' and crossing over to the window. After a moment, Lucius joined him.

"You're hurting Draco with your prejudice," Severus said, staring out the window.

"I know," Lucius answered. He was watching Severus, watching the way the light played across his pale face and bounce off his raven black hair. He was memorized in a way he'd not allowed himself to be anymore. But he was tired, he was tired of watching and not touching. He was tired of looking and knowing nothing would happen. It was not in a Malfoy's nature to not take what he wanted and yet, Lucius had done exactly that and it had cost him. It had cost him so much.

"Stop looking at me like that, Lucius," Severus said. Lucius immediately dropped his eyes and turned his head away, looking anywhere but at Severus. He should have known better than to forget himself.

"My apologies," he answered. "Thank you for the tea. I should be going."

Severus nodded stiffly, but made no move away from the window, still looking forbiddingly captivating in the slanting sunlight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the kudos! There are about 8 chapter left with a sequel! Please comment!


	12. The Change

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco goes through the full moon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: torture, implied rape

 

After Cedric had died, everyone had left him alone. Even Severus left him after one well placed glare and a curse that sent dust raining down from the ceiling above them. He'd told Dumbledore the story of what happened and then told him to get out. Even Dumbledore had known better than to argue with him.

So, he'd just stared up at the ceiling in Severus' private rooms, feeling as if he should have been crying but feeling as if he wouldn't—couldn't.

Cedric was dead. Cedric was dead. The words echoed through his head, bouncing around and around and around. Cedric was dead. It didn't feel real. Cedric was dead. It felt too real.

Voldemort had killed him in cold blood. They'd landed in the graveyard together because neither of them had been able to take the Triwizard cup out from under the other's nose. But he should have. He should have left Cedric when he was crying out for help. He should have snatched the cup out from under him and left him behind in the maze. He should never have let himself fall in love with Cedric. What had it been worth? A few months of half borrowed peace in exchange for this. He didn't even have his anger to protect him anymore. His love for those grey eyes that would never smile at him again had robbed him of that.

Because Cedric was Dead. Cedric was dead.

Wormtail had taken his blood and raised Voldemort. He'd seemed surprised when he didn't bother to struggle, when he didn't bother to say anything, when he didn't bother to do anything but stare at Cedric's lifeless corpse. But Cedric was dead, leaving him cold and empty in a way he'd never felt before. He thought he had. Oh, he thought he had known what it had felt like to hurt, to be empty inside, but he hadn't.

Voldemort had put it together though—had read the truth behind his eyes. Voldemort had scorned him, laughing at his pain as if it was a trophy to him. He hadn't cared. Cedric was dead.

That had made Voldemort angry. Angry beyond belief. He'd tortured him, yelling at him to fight, to pick up his wand. He hadn't. And when he still hadn’t responded, Voldemort had touched him. First just a brush across his face, then as he gained confidence a grip in his hair. Voldemort ran his hands down his body, scratching, hissing, pulling, hurting, trying to get a reaction that he wasn't going to give. But he was empty and broken and just as dead as Cedric inside, and he had no intention of ever letting the emotions back in again.

Eventually, Voldemort had gotten bored. Voldemort had left him bleeding in the dirt as he turned back to his followers. He hadn't wanted to move. He had just wanted to lay there until Voldemort decided to end him, but he took one look at Cedric's corpse, and he couldn't. He couldn't. What would Cedric say? Beautiful, caring Cedric who had loved all the broken bits of him just as much as the whole parts.

So, he had crawled to the portkey, and he had gotten away. It hadn't even been hard. Voldemort had thought he was beaten—and he'd been right. Cedric was dead.

Alastor Moody had tried to drag him away, reaching out for his injured arm, but he had already flinched away, holding onto Severus so tightly he was smearing blood down the front of Severus' robes. No one had said anything about it until Moody was twisting and writhing and apparently coming out from under the effects of long-term Polyjuice potion use. Severus had kept him tucked to his side as Dumbledore had interrogated the fake Moody, but he hadn't heard a word of it. He hadn't cared what anyone was saying. Cedric was dead.

Severus had insisted on going to the infirmary. Severus had known what Voldemort had done to him; it was as obvious as the blood running down between his legs, but he didn't even feel the pain—didn't care about it. Cedric was dead.

Madame Pomfrey's eyes had widened when she'd seen him. She'd pointed her wand at him, reaching between his legs to assess the damage and he'd lost it. He'd screamed—not sane screaming either. Horrible, disembodied screaming that came from deep in his chest and echoed through the infirmary and down the hall. Severus had taken him away immediately, glaring at Pomfrey as if the whole thing had been her fault. He'd calmed down as soon as they made it to Severus' private rooms, breathing the familiar scent and pushing the pain away as Severus examined him while touching him as little as possible.

So, he’d been in Severus’ private rooms, feeling as if he should be crying but knowing he wouldn't be able to. Cedric was dead. He owed it to him to cry. But he couldn't. Cedric was dead. 

His whole body hurt. It hurt in a familiar way. A way he had just been beginning to forget with Cedric's touch. Not that it mattered, no. Not in the slightest. Cedric was dead. He should never have let himself fall in love with Cedric in the first place. He'd known. He'd known better than to open himself to someone. He'd known how capable people were of hurting each other. And sure, Cedric hadn't meant to hurt him, but Cedric was dead. Cedric was dead, and he was dead along with him and there was nothing anyone could do about that.

He turned his face up to the ceiling and let out a long sigh, closing his eyes and letting himself go to the darkness around him.

* * *

 

Severus was alone in his private rooms when his dark mark began to burn. Usually Harry was with him when this happened, but he knew the boy would be dealing with Draco tonight, dealing with the full moon. He'd tried asking what Harry's plan was, but he'd just gotten a blank stare as if he'd asked a particularly stupid question. Severus had promptly given up that line of question. What Harry didn't want to say, usually didn't get told.

He had no delusions that Lucius would come to him. He was sure the man was still angry about their last encounter. He'd opened up to Severus and Severus had shot him down. But when Lucius was looking at him like _that_ , it was almost impossible to forget  _that night_  and remember that Lucius had married Narcissa. That he had chosen Narcissa.

Severus stood, moving unsteadily to the fireplace. He sent a quick floo message to Dumbledore telling him what was going on before stepping through the fire and answering Lord Voldemort's call. He was prepared for the pain that was coming. He had, after all, not fulfilled the task that had been assigned to him.

* * *

"How do you even know where you're going?" Draco asked, trailing behind Potter as they plotted along in the forest. Potter had showed up outside Draco's room after lunch, shoving his way in and saying that Draco needed to be in the forest as early as possible if he was still going through with changing in the forest. Draco had protested that he could do it himself, but Potter had just raised an eyebrow and ignored everything he'd said. So, there they were, tramping through the forest while Potter searched for a suitable place for Draco to turn that night.

"I spend a lot of time here," Potter said, his voice so quite Draco almost missed it. Then he spent another minute wondering if he'd just imagined the words or if Potter had actually willingly told him something about himself. Draco hesitated and then decided to try his luck.

"Why do you spend a lot of time here?"

"Because I like to listen to annoying people making a horrendous amount of noise while asking me questions I have no intention of answering," Potter said, his voice so normal it took Draco far too long to realize he was being sarcastic.

"I didn't know you knew the word horrendous, Potter," Draco answered. "Seems rather out of your vocabulary." Potter turned his head and looked at Draco, his lips quirking in genuine amusement. The first Draco had ever seen him display. He just blinked, and Potter turned away again, continuing their trek through the woods as if nothing had happened.

Harry seemed different in the forest. He was more relaxed, running his hands across the pads of leaves as he passed and turning his head this way and that, his green eyes bright and focused. For the time, he seemed truly alive. Not the parallel to living he'd been doing that consisted of shuffling around and scowling at anyone that dared to talk to him, but alert and… at peace.

Draco thought about what Harry had said about spending a lot of time in the forest and found his curiosity peaked. He  _wanted_ to know more about this boy. Not the one who pushed everyone away—though he enviably found himself drawn to him too—but the one who snuck into the forest and smiled at him. The boy with bright green eyes and sunlight shining through his raven hair. Though Merlin only knew why.

"Aren't you the least bit nervous when you come in here?" Draco asked.

"Why?"

"Well…" Draco hesitated, shivering at the memory of their first year in this forest—at the cloaked figure leaning over the fallen unicorn. He quickly shoved the memory away and turned back to Potter, feeling silly though not sure why. He had every reason to be nervous in the forest, just because Potter was crazy didn't mean  _he_ would be. "The forest is dangerous," he sniffed contemptuously. "Everyone knows that, Potter."

"But I have you to protect me," Potter answered, not missing a beat. He stepped over a fallen tree branch, and Draco just caught sight of Potter smirk, letting him know he was being teased.

"Oh, ha ha. I was serious."

"We're here."

"What?"

"We are here," Potter repeated, rolling his eyes and gesturing to the small clearing. Draco just looked at it.

"Where is here?"

"Where you're going to change," Potter sighed, stepping around him and heading into the area.

"Why here?" Draco asked, and Potter threw him an annoyed look.

"There's water nearby so you won't have to search for it. It's plenty deep in the forest that if you decide to hunt, you shouldn't end up at the castle and there's plenty of room for the change." Draco balked at that word. The change. He turned his face away, intent of hiding the fear he knew was beginning to show. Why did Potter have to be so damn  _blunt_ about it all?

"Babying you isn't going to make it better," Potter said, his soft voice drawing Draco's eyes back to his face. Potter's eyes were cast down, looking as if he were slightly ashamed of his own behavior. Draco blinked at him, unsure what to say. Or even what to _think_. "I…" Potter seemed to struggle with himself for a moment before straightening his back and looking Draco straight in the eyes, the defiance back with full force. "Coddling doesn't make it any better. You're going to change and it's going to be painful. There's no use whining about it."

Draco flinched, taking a step away from him and clamping his jaw on the pain and frustration that lashed through him. He hadn't realized how much he'd been craving Potter's kind words—the gentle way he'd been helping, leading Draco forward—until he was denied.

"Yes. Yes, of course you're right, Potter," he said. There was a beat, and Draco hesitated, unwilling to ask for help but having no idea what to do next. Potter looked at him for a moment before his expression softened as he sighed. He tilted his head up, looking up at the rapidly rising moon before turning back to Draco.

"The full moon is almost here. You need to prepare yourself."

"Alright," he answered, and he felt silly and incompetent, waiting for Potter to guide him through something when he couldn't have any more idea of what he was doing. But- But Draco was scared. He was shit his pants scared, and he just wanted to be able to look at Har- Potter and have him tell him everything was going to be fine. And that everything was  _still_ going to be fine in the morning.

"You might want to take your clothes off." Potter flushed and dropped his eyes, shifting around uncomfortably as Draco stared at him.

"I'm sorry?"

"Don't make me say it again," Potter raised his eyes with a glare, his cheeks still flushed bright red. There was a strange light in his eyes, something startlingly close to panic. He hadn't thought Potter could feel fear. "Your clothes will just rip with the change anyway. At least this way you can get dressed afterward." Potter's face got steadily redder as he talked, his eyes flicking anywhere but at Draco.

"Alright…" Draco hesitated, watching Potter as he reached up and began unbuttoning his robes. Potter's face immediately turned a nasty shade of green, and he turned his back on Draco completely. "Potter…"

"Just take your fucking clothes off, Malfoy," Potter snapped. He was shaking. What was Potter so afraid of? It couldn't be him, could it? Potter had never shown any signs of being afraid of him before, before Draco had-. And the realization of just why Harry was afraid snapped through him, making him feel slow and idiotic. He took a careful step forward, reaching out unconsciously, having no idea what he was going to do but doing it anyway.

Then pain stabbed through him, the full moon singing through his veins and calling the change to the forefront of his mind before subsiding and leaving him gasping into the night air.

"You should leave, Potter," Draco said. He was proud of how cold he was able to make his voice. "Before I change and rip you apart." Potter's trembling froze and then he turned, slowly locking his startling green eyes on Draco. His eyes were dry, cheeks now so pale Draco wondered if he'd been breathing. "That's what you're so afraid of, isn't it?" Draco asked, feeling a dull ache burn through his neck and move down his chest, following the line of his scars. He hadn't realized how close he was to the change. Potter stared at him, seeming to come out of the strange trance he'd been in as he swallowed once and then shifted on his feet as if his body was remembering pain his mind wanted to forget.

"I'm not leaving."

"But…. You-," Draco cut himself off, unsure how to even describe Potter's meltdown. "I don't understand. I could hurt you."

"Go ahead," Potter answered, and Draco only had time to blink at him before another wave of pain rippled through him. This time more powerful than the last.

Draco whimpered, his legs trembling beneath him. He could  _feel_  everything. The grass under his feet. Potter's heartbeat beside him. The wind in the trees around him. The pull of the full moon above him. And worse of all, the fire burning inside him. The fire that was burning through him as if intent on ripping him apart little by little.

The fire started in his throat and then spread down into his chest and spiraled through his lungs and pumping its way through his veins and up into his head, engulfing his mind in burning molten lava that was making its way down into his fingertips and toes.

He was screaming; he could feel the sound ripping its way through his throat, and he could hear it echoing in the trees around him. He knew he should stop, that if no one had done anything yet, there was nothing to be done, but he couldn't. Screaming was the only release he had and by Merlin he was going to use it.

He didn't know how long he was there, writhing and screaming. He didn't know when the begging turning to snarling or when his hands turning to paws. He wasn't sure when the desire for the pain to stop turned into the desire to hunt, to kill, to feed. But it did.

Almost as suddenly as it started, it ended. It was as if the fire had burned itself out, leaving him completely changed—inside and out.

He turned his head, snuffling and searching for blood, for food. He was  _hungry._ His eyes caught on startling green and he froze, for some reason unable to look away. Something tugged in the back of his mind, some reminder of something that wasn't the here—that wasn't the need for blood and death and hunger. He snuffled and took one lumbering step closer to the small feline in front of him.

The bobcat bounded up to him, arching its back and rubbing along his legs. It purred loudly, its head tilted up to stare at him with large intelligent green eyes. He snorted at it, stomping one of his feet in annoyance. The bobcat just huffed and continued purring, obviously unafraid.

Eventually, he decided to ignore it, turning his back on the feline and searching for something to hunt, to kill, to feed on. He wanted blood and death and violence. He took three steps out of the clearing and found himself called back by a loud insistent screeching that scared away all his prey and grated against his ears.

The bobcat was sitting in the middle of the clearing, staring at the place he'd disappeared and yowling after him. It stopped as soon as he reappeared, moving forward and beginning to rub along him, beginning its loud purring again. He huffed and shoved it away from him, leaving the clearing again to find prey worthy of his hunt.

However, as soon as he stepped outside the bobcat's line of vision the screeching began anew, causing him to come barreling back into the clearing, intent on ripping the tiresome feline's throat out—only to find the bobcat nowhere to be found. He looked around carefully, pacing every inch of the clearing before trying to leave again. As soon as he stepped out, the screeching started. It reverberating through his head and made it impossible to think of anything but shutting the stupid thing up. He paced back to the clearing, circling around and laying in a small ball in the middle, pacing his paw over his head and contenting himself to just lay there.

After a while, he felt a warmth settle on his back and a loud purring fill his ears as it got itself comfortable on him. He  _could_ have killed the annoying little thing, but by that time he was rather comfortable.

* * *

Lucius was alone in his private rooms when his dark mark began to burn. He was usually alone. Narcissa had learned not to bother him, and he'd never wanted Draco to know about the mark that marred his skin and the pain that came along with it.

He had no delusions that Severus would come to him. He was sure the man was still angry about their last encounter. He'd tried to keep himself in check. But sometimes it was impossible to remember that Severus wasn't his to touch and even more impossible to forget that Lucius still wished he was.

Lucius stood and made his way out of his rooms and down to the dungeons. He was sure Severus was already gone, but if this time was anything like the last time, perhaps he would need help when he came back through. And perhaps Lucius would just happen to be there when he did.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the wonderful comments! You're all amazingsauce!


	13. The Aftermath of Attraction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco makes a mistake.

 

He'd read the announcement in the paper first. It was printed bold as day across the front lines of The Prophet. He'd just stared at it for a moment before setting the paper down and returning to the potion he'd been brewing, absolutely refusing to think about the words that stayed imprinted across his eyelids.

Malfoy Heir to Marry:

Lucius Malfoy Engaged to Narcissa Black

He hadn't bothered to read the article. He knew what it said. Lucius had always been close to Narcissa; they'd spent endless time together in Hogwarts. He supposed he shouldn't be surprised their friendship had developed into something more. And he definitely shouldn't have been hurt.

He'd not talked to Lucius for over a year. Not since…. Not since their unfortunate encounter. He'd been drunk. Too drunk. He'd lost himself in Lucius' eyes and Lucius' laugh and the warmth of the company, and he'd forgotten that Lucius was a pureblood who would marry a pureblood, and even if Lucius _had_ wanted him—he could never have him.

He'd tried to put the engagement out of his mind. He really tried, but no matter what he did, it ate away at his insides and made it hard to breathe. And when Lucius showed up outside his house, looking immaculate and beautiful, he knew he truly was a fool for ever even trying.

"Severus," Lucius had said, eyes locking on his face without hesitation. His robes had looked perfect, trim and just the right amount of style and decorum. His hair, however, had been left down, flowing down his back in a tangled mess of platinum blonde.

"Lord Malfoy," he'd answered, turning his face away and clearing his throat before he'd trusted himself to speak.

"Severus…" Lucius had stepped forward, his voice so pained it had made him turn and look at him straight on. Not even when the Dark Lord was punishing them with the cruciatus curse did Lucius ever sound like that. "Severus, I am to be married…" he'd said it as if it should explain perfectly why he was there.

"I saw the announcement," he'd answered. He hadn't known what else to say. Hadn't known he could even say that without choking.

"Severus…" Lucius stepped forward, and he'd stared. He stared because he hadn't known what else to do. Lucius was looking at him like a blind man looked at the sun for the first time, drinking in the heat and asking—begging—for the chance, for just a taste more.

Except he couldn’t be looking at Severus with that expression.

"Why are you here, Lucius?"

"I…" Lucius had seemed on the verge of saying something, silver eyes searching his face for something. But he'd just stood looking back at him, keeping his face as blank as he could make it. He didn't understand. He had never understood Lucius. Why was he at his house, looking at him when he was to be married? Lucius was everything. And he was…. He was nothing.

He wasn't a fool. He knew love when he felt it. He knew he'd been in love with Lily, and he knew he felt the same for Lucius. But he also knew he would never be more than a distraction for Lucius. Nothing more than a quick drunken fuck or if he was very lucky that boyfriend Lucius' parents could never know about for fear of disownment. And he'd also known heartbreak with Lily, and he'd rather have never tried with Lucius than feel that again.

Lucius had spent another moment looking at him before his face fell. He'd turned away, his platinum hair falling over one shoulder as he bowed his head. They stayed like that for several heartbeats, neither of them daring to move. And then Lucius looked up, his face blank and cold.

"I simply came by to give you this," he'd reached into his robes, pulling out a simple yet elegant invitation and held it out to him. "I do hope you can make it, Severus. There was a time when we were very close." He closed his hand around the invitation, already feeling the urge to throw it into the fireplace, but he'd only nodded. Then Lucius had left.

He hadn't burned it. He hadn't even ignored it. He'd gone to the wedding of Lucius Malfoy and Narcissa Black, and he'd congratulated them as if he truly meant it. Lucius had inclined his head and kissed Narcissa as if he truly meant it.

He didn't hold it against Lucius that he'd chosen Narcissa. He didn't hold it against Lucius that he loved Narcissa. He did hold it against Lucius that he wanted to stay friends. Because no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't refuse. And every time he saw Lucius with Narcissa, he died a little bit more inside.

* * *

Draco woke stiff and in pain. The ground he was laying on was hard—extremely hard—and obviously dirty. He resisted the urge to jump up and try to scour himself clean. Instead he just tensed, his body shivering with disgust and discomfort. In answer, the warm body lying across him made an annoyed sound and snuggled closer to him.

Draco's eyes popped open, and he looked down, taking in the raven spotted bobcat resting against his chest. His very naked chest. He flushed bright red, looking down at himself. His clothes; what happened to his clothes?

He lurched to his feet, dislodging the cat and looking around for any sign of his clothes. He only found tattered strands here and there littered across the ground. There was a loud screeching meow from behind him, and he turned, locking gazes with the bobcat. He shivered as he looked into those wide emerald eyes. They brought flashed back of the previous night, flashes of hunger and pain and bloodlust buzzing through him. He pushed the memories away, deciding to focus on the strange animal in front of him. Weren't bobcats supposed to be skittish?

"I…" he drifted toward the cat, looking at it intently. "You were with me last night, weren't you?" The bobcat blinked at him and started cleaning itself, as if it was dismissing him entirely. He sighed and sat, dropping down and crossing his legs under him to study it.

"Aren't you scared of me?" he asked, feeling utterly idiotic for talking to a bobcat, but those emerald eyes looked so familiar, so... intelligent. The bobcat screeched a meowed at him not even bothering to look up; he winced at the sound.

"You did that last night too," he told it. "You..." he trailed off, his memories piecing themselves together. He stared down at the bobcat. "You stopped me from hurting anyone," he said. "Why would you do that?" It huffed indignantly, dropping its paw to stare at him. It seemed to be looking at him expectantly, as if waiting for him to realize something it considered obvious.

"You're not a regular bobcat, are you?" he asked, and it blinked at him once, and then huffed. He thought if it could roll its eyes, it would have. He smiled hesitantly, reaching out. His hand hovered above the bobcat for a second as he tried to decide whether it would let him touch it or not. It eyed the hand warily before seeming to shrug; he brought his hand down, petting it.

Almost immediately, loud purring filled the clearing, buzzing through Draco's skin and into his skull. He tilted his hand to scratch under its chin and it moved its head to comply, giving Draco a good look at its forehead and the lightning bolt scar across it. Draco blinked once, twice and then jumped to his feet with a loud exclamation. Then he realized how exposed that allowed his naked body to be and promptly sat back down, glaring at Potter and trying in vain to cover himself.

Harry blinked his intelligent green eyes at Draco before huffing and standing. There was a blur as the bobcat extended, moving to stand and then Harry was in front of him. And _clothed_ , thank Merlin.

"Hey!" Draco said, shifting uncomfortably. "Why did you keep your clothes?"

"That's the first thing you're going to ask?" Potter answered, raising an eyebrow as he moved to sit beside Draco, his eyes firmly focused on Draco’s face.

"I…" Draco flushed, feeling very foolish suddenly. Potter turned those emerald eyes on him—those eyes that were so similar to the bobcat’s, and the implications of the previous night hit him in the gut. "You were here the whole time."

"Yes."

"But… you…" Draco felt like vomiting, thinking of his horrible thoughts; his obsession with blood and death. How easily he could have killed Harry and never even known it had been him. How he wouldn't even have cared that it _had_ been him.

"You couldn't have hurt me," Harry said as if reading Draco's mind. He was looking at Draco intently, his voice quiet and full of an emotion Draco couldn't identify.

"How could you know that? How could you risk that?" he asked, balking at the horrible croak his voice made. What would he have done if he'd woken up and Harry was…? And he'd… "Oh, Merlin…" he gasped, trying desperately to suck in a breath and failing, failing, failing. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't—couldn't. He was going to suffocate-

"Draco," Harry's voice broke through it. He looked up, meeting startling green eyes. "You're having a panic attack. You  _can_  breathe, just take a deep breath." Draco shook his head frantically, he couldn't—how could Harry not see that he just couldn't and-

"Draco, look at me," Harry said, interrupting his train of thought. "Take a deep breath in, right now.” There was suddenly a hand on his shoulder, Harry’s fingertips digging into Draco’s skin, anchoring him, making him think about something besides his panic. He nodded, forcing himself to breathe in, hiccupping once. "Now out," he released his breath. It was easier. And the next breath in was even easier. He continued to breath until he felt the panic empty out of him, leaving him drained and hollow inside. He slumped, and Harry released him, stepping away quickly as if he’d been burned.

"That was..." Draco trailed off, look up into those green eyes and finding he didn't have an ending.

"Horrible?" Harry answered. He sighed, shifting and avoiding looking at Draco before sighing again. He reached up, his hands trembling over his jacket for a long second before he pulled it off in one smooth motion. Then he was reaching for his over shirt, avoiding Draco's eyes the entire time.

"What are you doing?" Draco asked, watching him. Watching the way, his ribs expanded under his shirt, the way his shirt rode up just a little bit to show a tan stomach and hard packed muscles. He watched how Harry's hands moved over his clothes, brushing across his skin a little hesitantly but still with precision. He swallowed nervously, becoming aware of a rapidly increasing _problem_ —especially given his state of undress.

Harry ignored him, instead choosing to just throw his jacket and over shirt directly at Draco and then turn completely away. Draco promptly pulled the over shirt on and then used the jacket to cover his lap. What was he doing, going around being attracted to Harry Potter? He’d lost his mind.

It wasn't as if he'd never been interested in boys before, but this was Potter not just _any_ boy. Not that he was bad looking. Draco thought back to his recent obsession with Harry, and a new understanding passed over him. Was this all about an infatuation he'd failed to identify before now? Draco looked over at him from under his eyelashes. Harry was actually rather attractive, all tanned skin, messy hair, and beautiful emerald green eyes that were… looking right at Draco.

"Why are you staring at me?" Harry asked, his eyes narrow and cold and Draco got the distinct impression Harry knew exactly why he was looking at him. Not that Draco understood his defensiveness. Shouldn't Harry be flattered that he found him attractive? Draco knew from experience that he was gorgeous and desirable. Most people would be overjoyed that he gave them the time of day.

"I-," he started. Harry's eyes narrowed further, and he switched tracks. "How did you know how to do that?"

"What?"

"With the..." he waved his hands around, trying to make sense when he had no words.

"Oh," Harry turned his face away, his body tense and defensive. "You mean with your panic attack."

"I..." Draco blinked at him. "I guess."

"It's just something I've picked up."

"But-."

"Drop it," Harry snapped, his voice harsh. But when he turned his head to look at Draco, his emerald eyes were full of pain.

"I didn't know you were an Animagus," Draco said, changing the subject abruptly. Harry looked at him warily but seemed to relax into the new subject.

"How would you have known? I don't tell anyone," he cast Draco a sharp look. "And I'll thank you not to tell anyone either."

"Not even Severus knows?"

"No. And if you tell him-."

"You don't need to threaten me," Draco interrupted. "You helped me. I don't understand why, but you did." He paused before speaking again. "You never had any intention of leaving, did you?" It seemed obvious now. The way Harry had been talking before he had turned; the way he'd stared at Draco and declared he wasn't leaving. It left a strange warmth in his stomach.

"No," Harry said. For a moment, it seemed as though he wouldn't continue before he apparently changed his mind. "You needed to know you weren't alone, that you didn't hurt anyone."

"But…" Draco stared. "How do you know that?"

"That's the reason you didn't want to take the potion and let them lock you away, isn't it? You didn't want to be locked away because you didn't want to feel as if you didn't matter—as if you were alone. And you didn't want to take the potion because you thought if you weren't yourself, you either wouldn't remember what happened or you could blame it on the wolf inside you." Harry said it all so calmly, as if it all made sense—as if it was all so perfectly reasonable. Draco just stared at him, amazed. Harry had risked his life for no other reason then because he had known Draco was scared.

How could he possibly expect Draco to believe he didn't care?

"Thank you," Draco answered. "I…" He shifted closer to him, pulling Harry's jacket closer around himself. "No one has ever done anything like that for me." He tilted his head, letting his hair fall across his face in a way he knew was flattering. Harry's eyes followed the movement almost unconsciously before moving back to Draco's face. Yes, he thought. Pull him in nice and slow. Before he has a chance to realize what's going on.

"Your father loves you, Draco." Harry answered, continuing the conversation and seemingly oblivious to Draco's seduction. "He just doesn't know how to show it."

"I know he does." Draco sighed, scooted even closer. They were so close now, Draco would only need to lean over to be able to kiss him. He ducked his head, looking up through his eyelashes and staring intently at Harry. "I just feel like he can't understand me," he leaned forward, leaving the 'not the way you do' unspoken between them.

"Malfoy…" Harry answered, his voice was low in warning. A warning that Draco refused to listen to. He knew what he wanted, and he was intent on getting it.

"Yes, Harry," he said, his breath ghosting across Harry's face. He reached out, closing his eyes and tilting his head, ready—so ready—to feel that mouth-

He yelped as he was shoved backward, pain shooting through him as Harry sent a rather powerful stinging curse straight into his chest. He gasped, eyes flying wide with pain and shock.

"You fucking pureblood piece of-," Harry's voice echoed around him. Draco gasped, his fingers reaching up to his chest as he struggled to sit up. Harry looked positively murderous, pacing the small clearing with his wand swinging between his fingers and glaring down at Draco as if he couldn't decide whether to curse him again. "You think you fucking own the world, don't you? You think you can treat the rest of us like shite and use us and then walk away like it's nothing."

"I didn't…" Draco trailed off. He was confused, confused and in pain and if he was being honest hurt.

"I can't believe I thought…" Harry bowed his head, his voice breaking for half a second before he looked back up. Draco flinched at his expression. It was hate, but not hate. There was hate on his face, but his eyes were just dead, blank and empty and dead. "It doesn't matter what I thought. Good luck getting out of the forest, Malfoy." Harry turned his back. "I hope you get eaten."

He tried to stand, fell, and then managed it just in time to catch sight of the raven bobcat disappearing between the trees. He didn't bother to call out, he knew Harry was gone.


	14. When the Pain Comes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Severus returns from Voldemort.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: self-harm, attempted suicide

Severus had been worried all summer after Voldemort rose. He never said anything, but it was clear in everything he did. Severus' eyes followed him wherever he was, demanding to know what he was doing and when. When he wasn't scowling, he was fussing, checking up on him in his sleep and making sure he was actually eating.

They had been forced to stay at Hogwarts for the summer since Severus was forever on call from Voldemort and no one trusted him in a house by himself. He hadn't particularly cared either way. Stuck alone in Severus' manor house or stuck alone in Hogwarts. It didn't make much of a difference to him.

Well, except that it did. As much as he tried not to care, the emotions leaked back into him. It was slow at first. The slow leak of hate and pain and heartbreak that filled up the empty hole inside him in a way he couldn't stand for another minute.

He'd tried cutting first; he didn’t even know why. Just that he’d heard it would help and there was something horribly appealing about inflicting the pain on himself, somewhere physical, something permanent. But the first time he tried, he couldn't make himself pull the wand against his skin and draw the blood. He'd only ended up howling out at the walls, angrier and more horrified and more in pain than he had been to start with. It had taken him another week of building the emotions before he'd tried again. It had been the dream of Cedric dying that had done him in, making him pull out his wand and create a deep gash straight into his thigh.

It had hurt. It had hurt more than he'd expected it to. It had also worked better than he'd expected it to, cleansing him of pain and anger and all the emotions he didn't want to feel—he had no right to feel. He'd let it heal the muggle way, feeling the pull and pain every time he moved. Severus looked at him funny the next morning, as if he suspected something but didn't seem to know what.

Eventually, the emotions became too much even for the cutting and the pain to take care of. He'd tried not to, he'd held onto Cedric's disappointment if he were to give in, but he'd been too tired. He'd been too done for too long, and he just didn't want to feel anymore.

He'd been having nightmares every night. Reliving Voldemort's hands on him, Cedric's lifeless eyes, the way-

He hadn't been able to take it. He'd been weak, and he'd begged Cedric to forgive him as he'd drawn the cutting curse across his wrists. He'd been drowning for so long, and he was so tired of trying to stay above the water.

Of course, it was never that easy. Severus had found him and healed him before he could die. He hadn't even yelled; Severus just laid him across his bed and healed his wrists, and then spent a long time staring at the cuts littering his thighs. He'd wanted to say something. He'd wanted to say anything, but he'd just been able to lay there and look blankly up at the ceiling.

It had been a week before Severus spoke again. He knew Severus wasn't mad. He knew Severus was in as much pain as him, but he simply couldn't bring himself to break the silence anymore than Severus apparently could. Something inside him was broken; the same thing that kept leaking inside him. The same think that had made it impossible to cry when Cedric had.

"You can't keep doing this," Severus had whispered. He had never heard Severus sound like that, looking at him with pain in his eyes. Pain that had only made him hurt all the worse. "You need to find a way to stop, Harry."

"Why? Why can't I die if I want to?"

"You have people depending on you," Severus had answered. "You can't give up because if you give up, the rest of the world dies with you."

"And why should I care about the world?"

"You can't hate the world, Harry."

"And why not?" he'd asked. Though he hardly sounded as if he meant it. His voice was hollow, empty even to his own ears. Severus just looked at him, his dark eyes full of concern, but he just turned his head forward and stared up at the ceiling. "I won't kill myself, but not because I don't want to die."

"Harry…"

"Can you just leave me alone now," he'd answered, making himself snap. He'd known that was the only way to get Severus to leave him alone—to make him think he was angry. It worked; Severus sighed but left. He watched him go, determined to bury the pain deep inside him and forget about it. He would forget about Cedric and his uncle and his death until he could end it all with a simply flick of his wrist.

* * *

 Harry was running. He didn't even remember why he was running anymore, just that he was running and running and running as if that was supposed to make it all go away. He knew the sun was beginning to rise again. He knew he should be heading back in the direction of the castle—in the direction of his classes, but he couldn't make himself care about something as stupid as classes. He knew everything they could teach him anyway—Severus had made sure of that.

Somewhere through the haze of running, the name reached inside him and made him come to a halt. He stopped his running, bowing his back and lowing his head to pant against the ground. Severus was always so disappointed in him when he skipped his classes. He'd lecture and be sullen for days and then Harry would feel the guilt start creeping back into him and he'd have to—take measures.

He loped out of the forest, shifting at the edge and shivering at his lack of a jacket and overshirt. He purposely avoided the small clearing he'd left Malfoy in, having to trek an extra distance to do it but feeling glad all the same. He hoped the fucking pureblood wonder had tried to find his way out and gotten lost. He hoped he never saw him again. A familiar pang echoed down his chest, and he closed his eyes against the sensation. He couldn't do this again. He couldn't. Severus had been right all along; he had gotten attached.

And worse, he cared whether Malfoy had meant the kiss or not. He cared whether he had hurt Malfoy or not. And he hated himself all the more for it.

* * *

Lucius woke to Potter standing over him. He groaned, fluttering his eyes and shooing the boy out of his space. Potter immediately jumped away from his hands, casting Lucius a nasty look. He didn't even remember falling asleep, the last thing he remember was….

"Severus," Lucius sat up, looking around Severus' private rooms but not seeing the other man. "Has he not returned?"

"Severus?" Potter answered, looking Lucius over with intent green eyes. "Has Severus gone somewhere?"

"Lord Voldemort… He sent a summons last night. I assumed Severus had gone, but he's not returned…"

"He'll be back," Potter answered. He sounded confident, but his eyes told a different story, casting an almost worried glance toward the fireplace before flashing back toward Lucius. It was the most emotion Lucius had ever seen Potter show. In fact, the boy looked terrible. He had dirt on his face, and a leaf in his messy raven hair, and he appeared to be missing some of his clothes. His face was ashen, sunken in, with dark green eyes that didn't just reflect Lucius' emotions back at him as they usually did. Potter actually looked... alive, Lucius realized with a start. He didn't look like the broken approximation of a person that usually walked around, he looked…

"Why are you even here?" Potter asked, breaking Lucius out of his thoughts.

"I was waiting for Severus."

"Why? Think you can hurt him a little bit more than you usually do when he's already weak? Looking for a new low, Malfoy?" Potter answered and there was even something different about his anger. Where before he had still been scornful and hostile, at least he hadn't seemed as if he were  _trying_  to hurt anyone. It had seemed more as if he just wanted to be left alone. Now, looking into Potter's narrowed green eyes, it was as if Potter wanted to hurt.

"I-."

The floo suddenly flared, cutting him off. They both turned and watched as Severus tumbled out; he was standing but just barely, his legs trembling underneath him so hard he looked as if he would fall any second. Lucius' body urged him to rush forward and bring Severus close to his chest, to hold him up so he didn't have to do it himself. But his mind held him at bay, it reminded him of only a few days ago when Severus had scolded him for looking. He was not allowed to touch; he was not allowed to comfort.

Potter had no such reservations. He stepped forward, his hands slipping under Severus' shoulders with a gentleness that Lucius would never have expected in the boy. Potter cast an annoyed glare at him before gently beginning to move Severus to his bed. Lucius heard a muffled sound of pain and his mind's control broke. He stumbled forward, latching onto Severus' other side and taking the weight off his legs. He knew he wasn't near as gentle as Potter, but he was faster.

They laid Severus down, and Potter cast a couple diagnostic spells while Lucius stared. Severus looked horrible, covered in dirt and grime as if he'd been rolling on the ground. He was still trembling, his hands shaking so bad Lucius took them between his own.

"It's just the Cruciatus," Potter said finally. "Voldemort must have been angry." Severus flinched away from the name, his eyes fluttering. Potter looked at Severus for a moment before standing and crossing the room to begin digging around in Severus' potions bag.

"Lucius…" Severus croaked, and he jumped, looking away from Potter to meet the dark eyes locked on his face.

"What did he do to you, Severus?" Lucius answered, his hands tightening unconsciously around Severus'. He tried to loosen his grip but couldn't. Not while Severus was looking up at him with his dark eyes full of pain and expectation.

"I…" Severus shuddered, closed his eyes for a moment, and then locked his gaze back on Lucius. "I have to tell you something, Lucius…"

"Not tonight, you don't," Potter answered, moving to kneel on Severus' other side. He held up two potions and Severus sighed but opened his mouth for Potter to pour them in. He swallowed painfully before turning back to Lucius, a stubborn light in his eyes. Potter sighed but made no move to stop him.

"Lucius, The Dark Lord, he wants you dead-."

"We already know that," Lucius answered, trying to disentangle himself from Severus only to find the other man holding onto him tightly. "You should rest, we'll worry about everything else in the morning."

"No. No, you don't understand. I…" Severus shifted, looking pained. "He…"

"What did Voldemort tell you to do?" Potter asked, and Lucius looked up. Potter looked subdued, his green eyes dark as Severus met his gaze. An understanding passing between them that Lucius couldn't grasp.

"I was supposed to sabotage the deal between Lucius and Dumbledore. Do anything to make sure they couldn't stay here," he said, his voice becoming stronger as he talked. "But I… I didn't do it, and he was very angry. He called me back, punished me." Severus turned his eyes on Lucius, dark and full of an emotion he didn't understand. What was Severus trying to tell him? He already knew he was a traitor?" He wasn't happy."

"Severus," Potter said, his voice quiet and yet still managing to echo through the room. And Lucius looked over, still lost in the look Potter was giving Severus. "What did Voldemort tell you to do?"

"He… He gave me a choice," he closed his eyes. "He read my mind- no, he didn't just read my mind," his gaze shifted to Potter. "He read my emotions. He knows."

"He knows you're a spy?" Lucius asked, but Severus was already shaking his head.

"Severus, he needs to know," Potter said. Lucius looked between them; they obviously knew something he didn't, and he found he didn't like the new experience at all. Whatever was going on, he _should_ have been the first to know.

"I- he… He knows I'm… I'm in love with you, Lucius," Severus said, his voice so soft Lucius was sure he had misheard. As it was, he could only stare, uncomprehendingly at the man before him, feeling utterly lost. And then he was talking again, leaving Lucius behind in the turmoil of his mind. "He knew he could manipulate me with it, so he did. He told me that I was to kill Albus Dumbledore or he would kill you," Severus eyes snapped open, looking straight at Lucius and asking him to understand, begging him. Lucius just stared back, feeling completely overwhelmed.

Eventually, Severus turned away, his voice low and hoarse when he spoke again. "I swore an unbreakable vow, Lucius."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Know that Harry's problems in this chapter are really intense and important. If you struggle, you're not alone! Thanks so much for reading.


	15. Into the Dark Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco reaches out to Harry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Self-Harm

Sirius Black had died. He’d supposed he should care. He’d supposed he should be crying. He was, after all, his Godfather. But he just sat in Dumbledore's office and stared. He couldn't find it in himself to care about the man. Maybe that made him a monster. Granger and Weasley certainly seemed to think so if their looks of disbelief had been anything to go by. If the way they'd turned their heads away, their eyes full of horror and shame to be associated with him, was anything to go by.

Not that he could particularly make himself care what they thought. They had judged him the whole year 5th, looking at him in disgust after he'd told them of Weasley senior's attack. He'd taken it all in stride, perfecting his Occlumency and pushing Voldemort out of his mind. It had been easy; Voldemort had been counting on him being at least a little curious about what was behind the door, but the truth was, he didn't give a damn. And he was right not to care.

He didn't care right up until the vision of Severus on his knees before Voldemort. Severus was being tortured, jaw clenched tight as he lay against the ground.

His eyes had fluttered open, feeling nauseous and disgusted. But he hadn't gone. Severus would return—he always did.

The dreams had gone on for days. Severus had been missing for days. And eventually, he'd given in. He'd gone to Dumbledore, and he'd asked for help. And Dumbledore had made empty promises that led to nothing. So, he'd gone himself, straight into the heart of the ministry and straight into Voldemort's waiting hands. Of course, the Order had eventually showed up, Sirius Black in tow as if he was some kind of hero. And they had saved the say. Saved him. Not because they cared about him or Severus, but because he was the Boy Who Lived and they couldn’t lose him so carelessly.

He'd saved Severus. But Sirius had died.

It seemed a fair enough trade to him.

If only Dumbledore himself could've paid the price for his inaction.

* * *

 

Draco made his way out of the forest after the fifth night. It was pitch black, hardly anything moving on the grounds and no one in the halls of the castle. It had taken him a long time to find his way out of the forest and up to his room; his body was sore and aching. He felt dirty and cold, and he wanted nothing more than to curl up in his bed and sleep. But he knew he couldn't. He had been out of commission for too long already. He pulled on clothes and then quietly slipped out of his room, flicking his wand to lock the door behind him.

He wanted to talk to Potter. To say something—anything that might make up for what had happened in the woods. Not that he even understood what had happened, but he did understand that Potter was upset. And he understood that he had crossed some kind of line that he had  _known_ was there. Merlin, Potter had warned him in every way possible, and Draco had still crossed it.

The problem was, Draco had no idea where to go looking for Potter. He might be in the Gryffindor tower. Though he doubted it. More likely he was with Severus, which didn't exactly provide a good atmosphere for a good long talk about how much he wanted to get into Potter's pants.

He sighed, swerving to the right and heading to his father's rooms. It wasn't as if he had much of a choice. Still, he didn't… expect what he found.

The door to Lucius' private rooms were open, the crack spilling light and voices down the corridor. Draco hesitated, but didn't stop. It wasn't exactly unusually that his father to have a guest. He did, however, freeze when he heard the sound of Potter's voice.

"….Want him to do?" Potter was saying. He sounded bored, and Draco could just imagine him with his leg slung over the arm of his father's chair, examining his wand as if the conversation meant nothing to him. But one thing Draco had learned about Harry was that he never asked questions that didn't mean something to him. "Aren't you the one that believes love is weakness, Lucius?" Draco started at hearing Harry address his father so informally. He crept closer to the door, hesitating just outside as the curiosity burning inside him.

"It's not about weakness, Potter. It's about truth." Lucius answered. Draco blinked, surprised at the amount of emotion his father allowed in his voice.

"Hmm."

"You doubt me?"

"Yes," Potter answered blandly. There was a beat in which Draco could feel Lucius struggling for control.

"And why is that?" Another beat, an impatient sound and then Lucius spoke. "You think I'm afraid of what Severus will say."

"You just said it wasn't about weakness."

"Don't twist my words back at me, Potter," he answered. "That is what you think, isn't it? You think Severus will say something I don't want to hear."

"I'm not Severus. How would I know what he would say?"

"You keep saying that," there was a swoosh of robes, and Draco imagined Lucius was crossing the room to stand in front of Harry. He imagined Harry continuing to focus on his wand, refusing to give Lucius the satisfaction of looking up at him as he wanted. "But I get the feeling you know exactly what he thinks." There was a beat of silence and then Lucius spoke again, his voice loud and angry. "Damn you, Potter, I deserve the truth."

"You want to know?" Potter finally snapped back, his annoyance sounding as if it was finally surfacing. "You want to know why a half-blood nobody couldn't be with an aristocratic pureblood? You want to know how fast you would have gotten bored of him? How fast you would have dropped him rather than drop your precious inheritance? You want to know why love doesn't work?" Potter was snarling now. Draco leaning neared the door, his eyes wide as he listened. He got the distinct impression Potter was no longer talking about just Lucius and Severus.

"Love doesn't work because people are selfish. They take and take, and they don't know how to give. And when you let people in, all they do is break your heart. So, forgive me—," a beat as Harry seemed to realize how much he'd said. "Forgive Severus if that wasn't what he wanted." Draco's father muttered something too low for him to hear, and Draco leaned even further forward, pressing his ear to the door.

Suddenly there was a creak as Draco leaned a little too hard, lost his balance and toppled into the door. It opened under him, depositing him neatly on the floor just inside his father's private rooms. He looked up, meeting emerald eyes and pushing down the embarrassing blush he could feel rising upon his face.

"Hello," he said, standing and brushing the imaginary dust off his clothes. Potter just continued to stare, his green eyes wide and startled. He looked shell-shocked, his hair a tangled mess and his clothes hanging loose on his frame in a way Draco was only just beginning to notice. He narrowed his eyes at the bags under Harry's eyes, at the way his cheeks were gaunt and hollow, at the way his dark green eyes watched Draco as if he were seeing a ghost.

"Draco," his father said, and Draco turned to look at him. Lucius was still in full robes, even though it was the middle of the night, his hair tumbling down his back and tangling into those horrid curls that Draco knew his father only allowed when something was really upsetting him. "You've returned." Lucius said, stepping forward. His face was closed, revealing nothing of the emotions Draco had just heard him using with Potter.

And he was unexpectedly hurt. His own father was more comfortable talking to Potter—the bloody most closed and stand-offish person on the planet—than him, his own son.

"Yes," Draco said, jerking his chin up. "No thanks to either of you."

"Well," Harry's eyes narrowed, and Draco turned to look at him, just in time to see his face closing off with an audible snap. He stalked to the door, his footsteps echoing across the stone as Draco stood frozen, unsure how to stop him. "I'll just be going anywhere but where you are, Malfoy." The door slammed behind him, and Draco winced, the sound wrenching him out of his frozen state.

"Harry!" he called, lunging after him. "Harry, wait!"

His father made no move to follow as Draco tugged open the door and ran down the corridor after the already disappearing Harry. He managed to stop him after he turned the second corner, catching his arm and tugging them both to a stop. Harry recoiled from his touch, flinching away from Draco as if it was second nature to him. He turned his face away, looking nauseous, though he made no move to leave again. Draco supposed that was sort of a win. Maybe.

"Why do you do that?" Draco asked before he could stop himself. "Why do you always flinch away when someone touches you?"

"I don't like to be touched," Harry answered and then he was scowling as if he hadn't meant to speak at all. It was strange, how much easier Draco found it to read his emotions than when he'd first met him. He wondered if he was simply more observant or if Harry was more open. He didn't know which one he preferred.

"But why?"

"Is that really any of your business, Malfoy?"

"So, we're at Malfoy now?" he asked, ignoring the strange pang that swept through his chest. Harry hadn’t even called his father by his last name.

"What?" Harry looked up at him, green eyes dark and full of hate. Though Draco really couldn't tell if the hate was directed at him or himself. And he couldn’t help wondering again why someone like Harry Potter could hate himself. "You think I ever cared about you? You think you were ever  _Draco_  to me?"

"Why did you help me if you didn't care?" he asked, watching as Harry flinched away from him, recoiling into himself.

"Why not, huh? Isn't it fun to play with other people's emotions? You certainly seem to think so?"

"Harry-."

"No. No, you don't call me Harry. You don't get to," Harry snarled. "You're nothing but a pureblood brat, and I never cared about you. Not for a single bloody second."

"But-."

"There's no 'but' to this, Malfoy. Just leave me alone."

"No," Draco answered, pitching his voice low and putting all his emotion into it. Harry stared, his mouth popping open in shock. "No, there is a but, Harry Potter, and you are going to listen to it." He waited, but Harry just looked at him, seemingly too shocked to speak.

"I didn't try to kiss you because I was using you or some other nonsense. Should I have done it when it was clear you didn't want me to, no. But I am attracted to you, Harry. There's nothing wrong with that, and I refuse to apologize for it. So, stop being a bloody baby about it and tell me what the real problem is because it isn't that you don't care." Draco looked at him for a minute, taking in the emerald eyes, tousled hair, bags under the eyes, and too skinning frame. "Because if I've learned anything about you, it's that you do care—no matter how hard you try not to."

Harry stared at him, blinking rapidly. He swallowed once, twice, his Adams apple bobbing up and then down, and Draco had the sudden irrational thought of all the more pleasant things that he could be doing to make Harry swallow like that. His eyes must have clouded in lust because Harry let out a strangled sound, taking a step away from him and there was no mistaking the fear that crossed his face. It was plain as day, written across Harry's face and stabbing into Draco's heart.

"Harry," he whispered, reaching out. "I'm not going to hurt you…" Harry flinched away from his hand, staring at Draco for one second more before whirling around and sprinting down the corridor as if hell hounds were on his heels. This time, Draco made no move to follow him. He had no idea what he would even say if he did. No idea what had caused Harry to run away this time.

* * *

Draco came back a few minutes after he'd left. Lucius hadn't heard anything that was said between him and Potter, but he could tell from the expression on Draco's face that it hadn't gone well. He could probably guess why. He'd gotten to know Potter well over the past four days of Draco being in the forest.

It had been strange as first. Potter wasn't exactly an open person, but then neither was Lucius. And there was a charm to someone who didn't ask Lucius anything he wasn't willing to tell, even if his blasé attitude made Lucius want to hex him sometimes.

He'd gathered that Potter had been abused, not just physically but mentally. He wasn't sure of the extent, but he was sure that Potter had no intention of talking about it. He was also sure that Potter was nowhere near as put together as he tried to present.

His first clue had been when he'd walked in on Potter laying in a pool of his own blood. There had been a long gash down his arm, still oozing blood onto the cold tiles of Severus' private bathrooms. He'd healed it, making sure it wouldn't leave a scar. Though he'd soon realized that didn't much matter. Potter had plenty of other scars from previous cuts. Potter's eyes had fluttered open, locking on him and recoiling away as if he were afraid Lucius would hit him.

“You need to sleep,” Lucius had told him.

"Don't tell Severus," he'd rasped, his voice something close to desperation. "Please. He'll be so upset. Please…" Lucius hadn’t said anything, and Potter had been passed out against the tiles before he could plead anything else.

"It didn't go well, then?" Lucius asked as Draco closed the door behind him. Draco blinked at him before moving to sit in the chair Potter had abandoned.

"I've screwed up so bad, father," Draco said, resting his head lightly in his hands. Lucius just looked at him. Draco looked tired. So tired, and Lucius had nothing to help him with.

He turned his head away, studying the glass window. He thought of the other boy who had sat in that chair. Of the face he'd made when he'd seen Draco walk into the room. It had reminded Lucius painfully of that first morning after the full moon. Potter had looked so vulnerable, so open. The look had slowly melted away as the days passed, particularly after Lucius had found him in a pile of his own blood. But the moment Potter had seen Draco, it had been back in full force. Lucius wondered if Draco even knew of the effect he had over the boy. If not, he truly couldn't blame Potter for running. Nothing was more dangerous than someone having power over you, especially when that person didn't know they had it.

"I don't know what to do," Draco said, and Lucius looked over at him.

"I don't either, Draco," he answered. He wished he could snap his fingers and give Draco everything he wanted as he'd always done. But this time was different. This time they were both lost.

Lucius hadn't told Severus about Harry. Not that Severus was talking to him anyway. He'd told Lucius he loved him and then promptly shoved him out, locking the door behind him and refusing to see him. Potter adamantly refused to interfere no matter what Lucius said to him.

"I'm not sure we're supposed to," Lucius said, folding his hands carefully across his lap. He looked up at his son, taking in the immaculate clothes yet messy hair. The way he leaned back in his chair. He should be scolding Draco, telling him to fix his hair and sit up straight. He couldn't find it in himself to get the words out.

Draco had returned. Draco had returned and suddenly that was all that mattered to him.

"Tell me about your change, Draco."

"What?" Draco said, looking up at him abruptly. He looked startled, and Lucius could hardly blame him.

"I want to know," Lucius scooted forward. "Please, Draco. I want to know."

"Why?"

"Because we're not dead yet, Draco," Lucius answered, his eyes flicking to the door where Potter had disappeared. "We're not dead yet, and I'm tired of us acting as though we were."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the wonderful reviews! You're all the bees-knees!


	16. The Love that Burns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry talks about his feelings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: References to self-harm

He'd heard the news from Narcissa. She'd told him in passing, clutching Draco to her chest and warning him that Lord Voldemort was gone. She had that look in her eyes that said he'd better not make them regret ever siding with Voldemort in the first place, and Lucius had hoped they wouldn't.

He'd been waiting by the fireplace for a long time. Too long to be acceptable. He'd known Narcissa knew what he was doing, but he didn't much care—she knew how he felt. They had spent one passionless night together a little over a year ago—after years of working themselves up to doing it at all. They'd both been relieved when Narcissa had turned out pregnant from it. It wasn't that they hated each other; they actually were good company when they were in the mood. It was simply that the marriage wasn't what either of them had wanted.

Eventually Severus did show up. He lit up the fireplace bright green, tumbling out without any grace and getting ash all over the carpet. He'd stepped forward, reaching out to touch Severus on the shoulder and pulling back at the last second. Severus had been covered in blood and dirt, tear tracks on his cheeks, though he wasn't crying anymore. 

He tried to ignore the feeling of betrayal, the feeling that Severus would never have looked like that for him, but Severus was more than willing to beg Lord Voldemort, cry and clutch Lily Potter while he couldn't even touch Severus without fear of what he would say. He tried but the feelings bubbled up inside him and it hurt. It hurt almost as much as it hurt to see Severus in that state. And the combination of it had been too much, too much to stand around and watch Severus standing on his carpet, and all he wanted to do was hurt someone—preferably Severus.

"Well," he'd said. "You look like hell." Severus had just looked at him, raising a single hand to push away greasy hair.

"Don't you have anywhere better to be?" he said, raising an eyebrow. "Maybe bowing and scraping to Dumbledore? He does, after all, hold your leash now, doesn't he?"

"How…?"

"Please, like it was hard?" he had answered as if it was no big deal how Severus had never been capable of hiding anything from him. "I've known for months that you were the traitor. It's just a wonder no one else had figured it out." He had left out the critical detail that he'd not only kept his mouth shut but also covered for Severus, but then he hadn't thought Severus really deserved that detail.

"Why didn't you say anything?"

"Well," he smiled coldly, crossing and sitting in his least comfortable armchair. "What would have been the point." Or rather, he was in love with Severus so much it hurt to breath, and he'd never really wanted Severus dead.

"Do we have to do this now?" Severus sighed, dropping his head and letting his hair cover his face. "Lord Voldemort is dead; it doesn't matter anymore." Except it did. It did matter that Severus had chosen Dumbledore—no, even that would have been better. Severus had chosen Lily over him. It mattered that he hadn't even told him as if Severus had expected him to throw him to the wolves the first chance he got.

"No, I suppose not. Except," he'd hesitated. He shouldn't, he shouldn't push so hard; he would regret it. But he just didn't know how to look at Severus right now; he didn't know how to look and still keep breathing. "I don't want you in my house." Severus had raised his head, looking at him for three long heart beats before he'd nodded and turned back toward the fireplace.

"Send Narcissa my regards," he'd said, before disappearing into the flames.

Lucius had done something after that; he didn't even remember what. He did remember Narcissa screaming at him, the elves working for days to fix the damage to the sitting room. He remembered the blood running down his hands and refusing to let anyone near him to heal them. He did remember the way it had burned when Severus had sent his regards to Narcissa as if he hadn't even cared that he’d thrown him out.

* * *

 

"So," Dumbledore said. "I must die then?"

"Yes," Severus answered. They were alone in the headmaster's office with Dumbledore staring off into space, and Severus staring at him. The loon didn't even seem to care about what Severus had told him, though he supposed Dumbledore had already come to terms with his death after he'd put that ring on and sealed his own fate.

"Do you have a deadline, Severus?" Dumbledore asked, and still he didn't sound particularly concerned.

"No, though I'm sure the Dark Lord would prefer sooner rather than later."

"And Lucius is aware of what has happened?"

"Yes," Severus hesitated, almost balking at the mention of Lucius. He didn't want to think about the aristocrat, at the way he'd stared when Severus had told him, at the way Severus thrown him out of his private rooms because he'd been opening his mouth with that look in his eyes, the guilty, half-denial look in his eyes. "Lucius was there when I returned."

"And Harry?"

"He knows," Severus frowned. "Why? Does it matter if they know, neither of them will interfere?"

"I suppose not." Dumbledore answered. "Harry will know what to do when the time comes."

"Sir?"

"And I suppose you have a plan about how to go about killing me?" Dumbledore continued, ignoring Severus. "That is without losing the castle and the grounds to Lord Voldemort and his Deatheaters."

"I…" Severus looked away. "I've thought about it."

"Good," Dumbledore said, looking over at him. "It's good that you do. I would hate my students to come to harm, Severus."

"Of course," Severus answered, though truthfully, he had no idea how to accomplish the act without betraying his true allegiance.

"Good," Dumbledore looked away from him again. "Good, my boy."

There was a long silence where neither of them spoke, and Dumbledore still wasn't looking at him, and yet Severus didn't quite feel like leaving. This might be his last chance to see the man alive, to ask any questions and yell about all the things he hated about him. He opened his mouth and then closed it when Dumbledore looked at him, his smile gone along with the twinkle from his eyes. And Severus just couldn't; Dumbledore may seem as if he didn't care about his death, but no one was that accepting, and Severus wasn't cold enough to deny Dumbledore the chance to grieve.

"I'll be going, sir," Severus said, turning on his heel and leaving the office. Dumbledore didn't say anything as he left though he could feel the man's eyes on his back.

He didn't run into anyone as he made his way down to the dungeons. He supposed most of the students were outside, enjoying the air and most of the teachers were grading papers while they had the time away from their students. He knew Harry was spending a lot of time around Lucius, which wasn't exactly bothering him, but it was making him feel… well, he didn't know how it was making him feel. He was glad Harry was getting along with someone besides him, he would've just preferred it if it wasn't Lucius Malfoy.

Needless to say, with all the time Harry had been spending with Lucius, Severus  _didn't_ expect to find him in his private rooms. And yet Harry was perched on his bed, his feet folded underneath him with his head ducked down, letting his hair hide his face. He looked like he did all those times he crawled into Severus' rooms in the middle of the night because he's had a nightmare and couldn't stop crying. Severus shook his head to dispel the image; Harry hadn't cried in years.

"Can I help you with something?" he asked, closing the room to his private rooms behind him.

"Draco is back from his change," Harry said, not even raising his head. There was something about his voice; it lacked the usual scorn, the usual dead tone of uncaring that Harry always maintained.

"Is that so?"

"Yes, he returned about an hour ago."

"And you know this how?" Severus asked. "Have you been watching him?"

"Of course not," Harry answered, and he sounded… "I just want him to leave me alone." He raised his head, his face still firmly turned away, but Severus wasn't stupid. He knew what it meant when Harry acted like this. Just because it hadn't happened in a while didn't mean he didn't know.

"Potter, look at me." He said. Harry flinched, but refused. The flinch in itself was enough evidence for Severus.

He crossed the room, grabbing the boy's wrist and yanking it forward. Harry yelped, trying to pull away and it was only then that Severus saw how red his eyes were. Though he wasn't crying, it was obvious that he was very close.

Severus suddenly felt very angry. Horribly righteous anger for whoever had pushed Harry so close to the edge. And yet, he was also relieved; the past few years, he had started thinking Harry couldn't feel anything as mundane as hurt.

"Let me see." Severus said, keep his hand firmly around Harry's wrist. Harry hesitated and then dropped his eyes. He took that as an invitation, so he placed his hand gently on Harry's sleeve and started to pull it up, careful to barely touch so Harry could feel his hand but not really putting pressure on him. Harry shivered but didn't try to pull away as the scars were revealed, horribly thick and crossing against his skin.

"I don't want to feel like this," Harry said, and there was that tone again. Severus stared at the new blood oozing from the thick cut for half a second before he sighed, pulling out his wand and healing it with a touch of his wand. He should have seen the signs; sure, he'd had his own problems, but he should have known how much Harry was struggling; there had been plenty of signs.

"And did it help?"

"I hate it." He said, ignoring Severus' question. "I tried so hard."

"Harry," Severus answered. "What happened?"

"Nothing," Harry examined his now healed arm with a disturbing lack of interest.

"Harry," Severus warned, and he sighed. He pulled down his sleeve, smoothing it down before looking up at Severus again. When he did, his face was more back to normal, wiped blank of emotions.

"He tried to kiss me."

"He…" Severus blinked, gaped, and then tried to reign in his anger. "Who tried to kiss you?"

"Draco," Harry answered, his voice soft. So soft. Severus hadn't heard him speak like that since before he'd found out about Lupin's betrayal, Sirius Black's true identity. He sounded scared; Severus never thought he would ever get the chance to hear Harry sound scared again. "Draco tried to kiss me." It made him blaze with anger and relief, and Severus had no idea which would win or even which _should_ win.

"I'll talk to-."

"I wanted him," Harry interrupted. He wasn't looking at Severus, but he didn't need to be looking for Severus to see the tear that caught on his eyelashes. Severus couldn't stop himself from watching it in fascination. "I wanted him so badly." Harry blinked, and the tear disengaged from his eyelash, making its way down his face. "You'd think I would've learned my lesson." It dropped of his face, landing with a plop on his knee. Harry flinched and then moved his hand to wipe away the wetness.

"What lesson?" Severus sighed. "The fact that you still have a heart, Harry? There's nothing wrong with that."

"Nothing  _wrong!"_ Harry answered, sounding as if he was choking. He stood abruptly, his back turned to Sever, though it wasn't hard to hear the tremor in his voice. "It's  _all_  wrong. It's  _sick_ ," he ducked his head. "I'm sick. How can I possibly… After… And I…"

"Harry," Severus yanked him around, his grip on his shoulders probably too tight, but he was angry. He was angry at the boy's family for touching him, for planting the thought in his head that there was something wrong with him, something unnatural. He was angry at Cedric for asking for Harry's heart and then not being strong enough to keep from breaking it. He was angry at Voldemort for ever laying a hand on him, for placing the responsibility of the world on Harry's shoulders when he knew, he  _knew_ Harry couldn't handle it. And most of all, he was angry at Harry for not being able to handle it.

"You're going to tell me there's nothing wrong with caring about people, but you're wrong," Harry said, trying to pull away from Severus. His eyes were wild, shinning with tears that Severus knew he wouldn't shed. "You're so wrong. I don't know how…" he trailed off before locking his eyes on Severus, a determined light appearing in them. He pulled away and this time Severus let him go, pacing across the room like a caged animal. "I can't feel this way. I can't."

"You can't control who you love, Harry."

"I used to believe I could," Harry answered, ducking his head. "I used to believe I wasn't capable of feeling this way anymore. Not after…" He raised his head, his gaze hard and full of fractured ice. "I never wanted to feel that way again."

"What? Human?"

"Human?" Harry answered, letting out a weak bitter laugh. "Weak and emotional and—and—and-."

"And like you might have something to live for after all?" Severus asked, raising an eyebrow. Harry stared at him for a long time. Maybe he was looking for something, maybe he was just trying to control himself. Either way, he obviously didn't get what he wanted before he blinked and turned his head away.

"I'm so tired," he said, in that age-old voice that Severus hated. "So tired of feeling hope only to be burned."

"And what about Draco?"

"Draco? Draco's a pureblood, he'd never let himself fall for the likes of me."


	17. What They Do for You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Severus puts his plan in motion.

"Lucius," Harry said. "I told you no."

Harry understood where Lucius was coming from. He really did. He understood the impulse to keep the person you loved out of danger. He would have done anything to stop Cedric from dying, to stop that feeling of pain and helpless defeat that had consumed him.

But he also knew what it felt like to be manipulated, to be played into doing what someone else wanted, to not have a choice in someone else's game. He had been playing Dumbledore's game longer than he could remember, and he had hated it for as long as he remembered.

"Potter, I understand you're hesitant, but Severus-," Lucius argued.

"I thought Severus was still refusing to tell you his plan?" Harry asked, raising an eyebrow skeptically.

Severus was, in Harry's opinion, being overly sensitive when it came to Lucius. It would've been better if they could've relied on Lucius, but Severus was firm that he not know anything, and it wasn't Harry's place to go against him, no matter how much he disapproved.

"He's not, but Draco-."

"Lucius," Harry cut him off, and this time Lucius stopped talking, looking slightly put out as if he was finally accepting the fact that he wasn't going to get his way. He almost felt bad. Almost.

"Why don't you just tell Draco the truth?" Harry asked, his face turned away as if that would stop the echoing shudder that traveled down his spine whenever he so much as thought Draco's name.

"You know why."

"Yes, and lying got you so very far last time," Harry answered.

"Fine, Potter," Lucius snapped. "Just-."

"I'll look after him," Harry interrupted, and Lucius stared for a long minute. Then his face softened, and he nodded. He hesitated for half a second before turning on his heel to walk away. Harry could feel himself relaxing, the effort of having to keep his emotions down draining him like nothing else.

"And Harry," Lucius said. He stiffened, trying and failing to keep the surprise off his face as Lucius half turned toward him. "Make sure you keep yourself safe too, hmm?" Harry didn't remember doing it, but somehow, he found himself nodding.

And worse, he found himself meaning it.

Lucius smiled, a thin humorless smile and then he was gone, leaving Harry feeling tired and emotionally worn thin. He sighed, stepping back and leaning against the wall. He was tired, so tired. But in a different way than he was used to. He felt awake after years of sleep walking. And he hated it, he absolutely hated it. He hated the overwhelming hope that soared through him; he could deal with anger and pain and fear. He'd done it for years.

But hope, he couldn't deal with hope because he knew if he let it in, it would eventually cause the pain to come back. The horrible, heart shattering pain, that had destroyed him once before. And he'd spent too long running away to have to feel that pain again.

"What did my father want?" the voice sounded across the corridor, loud and demanding and altogether too familiar. Harry looked up, meeting Draco's silver-grey eyes easier than he should have been able to.

"What are you talking about?"

"I heard you," Draco answered, stepping hesitantly toward Harry. He could understand why. The past month after Draco's transformation, Harry had avoided him like the plague, turning corners and tracing through secret passages just so Draco wouldn't have the chance to talk to him.

"If you heard us, why are you asking me what he wanted?" Harry sighed, turning away. It wasn't that he didn't want to look; he did. He wanted to look at Draco so badly it hurt. And that was the problem.

He didn't understand how this had happened, how Draco had managed to worm his way inside Harry. How he had managed to flip a switch in him that he had never wanted back on. He cared about Draco—maybe Draco was right, and he always had, but at least before he had been able to lie to himself about it.

"Because I obviously didn't hear everything," Draco answered, rolling his eyes.

"Hmm," Harry said. Draco stared as if waiting for Harry to say anything else, but after another minute, he gave up with a loud sigh.

"So, you're still not talking to me?" He asked, his voice and high full of irritation. "Though I suppose this is improvement. You're not running away this time."

"Have you considered the possibility I just don't want to be chased? That maybe you're really just an annoyance to me?" Harry answered, hearing the snap in his voice but ignoring it. Draco visibly recoiled, turning away from Harry with a scowl. And Harry hated the pang of regret that shot through him.

"Well, then, I'll just be going to annoy someone else then, won't I?" he didn't get a step away before Harry's voice rang out.

"Wait," he spoke before he really meant to, the word shoving past his defensing and getting thrown into the air before he could stop it. He regretted it right after it was out, and Draco turned to him with an expectant look plastered across his face, but Harry had nothing for him. They just looked at each other for a long minute, and then Draco's face fell.

"I don't understand you," Draco said, silver-grey eyes locked so intensely on Harry's that he couldn't look away, no matter how much he wanted to. And Harry wondered how that could possibly be true when those eyes cut him so deep.

"What's to understand?"

"What could have hurt you so badly that you're so scared to care?" Draco asked, voice low and full of emotion. He took another step toward Harry, leaning his shoulder against the wall and standing just a little too close. And all Harry could do was wish he was closer, and it disgusted him that he could possibly want that.

"Did you want something?" Harry answered, ignoring Draco while they were both being so irrational.

"Yes," Draco sighed. "I actually did."

"And?"

"Well-," Draco stopped abruptly. Harry watched in fascination as he turned his head away, pale cheeks flushing brightly. "Uh, you know how… Well, you know how my change is coming…"

"Yes," Harry answered immediately. "Tonight." Draco's eyes flicked up, silver-grey dark and nervous. It had been a month since his last change, the dark circles of three nights of missing sleep slowly disappearing as he caught up again and then slowly reappearing as he missed sleep worrying about the next change. Harry had watched him, watched the signs of nervousness travel through Draco's body and across his face. He'd know Draco was struggling with himself, but he'd stayed as far away as he could.

"Well, I was wondering if you-," Draco started.

"I don't think that's a good idea," Harry interrupted. He knew what Draco would ask. He knew because he wanted it himself—had been wanting it for the past week. But he couldn't, he couldn't control himself when they were both fully clothed and standing far enough away that it should never have been a problem.

"You don't even know what I was going to ask," Draco answered, his face darkening.

"I don't need to."

"Is that so?" Draco's eyes narrowed. "Is that what my father said? To stay away from me?" Harry stared, blinking at Draco for a long time before he realized exactly what he was talking about. And then he felt like laughing. If only everything was that simple.

"I wouldn't stay away from you just because your father told me to."

"Oh?" Draco answered, stepping even closer, and Harry could feel his body heat now. He could feel the way he was so close all Harry would have to do was lean forward and-

"Stop," Harry said, wrenching away with a sharp intake of breath. Even to his own ears he sounded like he was hyperventilating.

"Harry, what..." Draco said, reaching out as if to touch him. Harry flinched as Draco's hand morphed and changed into a bigger, fatter hand and then continued toward him, reaching, reaching out for him. It wasn't going to stop, and he'd done something to deserve it; he was sure he did. But he couldn't for the life of him remember what.

"Don't touch me," he heard his own voice, louder and more confident than he expected, and he wished he hadn't said anything because he knew it was only going to make it worse.

But then the hand dropped, and a voice he didn't expect spoke, breaking him away from the illusion and sending him tumbling back into a reality that was somehow only slightly better.

"Harry, I'm not going to hurt you," Draco said, eyes wide and full of concern. And Harry hated it. He hated that Draco could even tell that something was wrong with him. He turned away, burning with shame and pain and humiliation and wishing Draco would just leave him alone.

"I'll stay with you," Harry snapped.

"What?"

"Tonight," Harry answered. "I'll stay with you." He turned and started to leave, snarling over his shoulder as he went. "That's what you wanted, wasn't it?"

* * *

The sun was just beginning to set when Severus' dark mark burned. He was working in his private rooms, mixing potions that he knew weren't going to turn out right because he'd stopped paying attention somewhere around an hour ago.

He'd known the Dark Lord was getting impatient, but he'd been hesitant to carry out the plan he had settled on. Now though, feeling his dark mark burning on his arm and the horrible weight of the Dark Lord's impatience burn along with it, he knew his time was up.

He stood, throwing his robes behind him dramatically as he left his room. He ascended the stairs, heading for the weakening in the school's wards that Harry and he had created earlier that week. Harry had raised an eyebrow at Severus' plan but thankfully he hadn't said anything. Severus supposed that was the best he was going to get when it came to approval. Harry was never one to keep his thoughts in check when he believed something wasn't up to par.

Severus stood on the edge of the astronomy tower, looking over the grounds for half a second before he raised his wand and cast once, then twice. The wards shook and groaned around him, weakening further before they began to fall. He could hear the wail of sirens sound through the castle grounds.

Of course, no one would really be able to get in until Dumbledore himself was dead, but it was only a matter of time before that happened. With one last lingering look, Severus turned and faced the entrance to the astronomy tower, wand clutched tightly between his fingers.

* * *

They were just beginning their trek through the woods when the sirens started up. Draco started, turning toward the castle before he could stop himself. The sound was loud and piercing, shooting through his eardrums and sending pain ricocheting through his skull. Draco's hand came up, clutching his ear and howling before he could stop himself. It was so close to the full moon. He had a little over an hour left, and the change was intensifying all his other senses, only making the pain worse.

And then Harry was there, pulling his hands away and pressing his wand against Draco's forehead. He saw Harry's lips moving but couldn't hear the words above the horrible screeching coming from the school. Then suddenly, the screeching dropped an octave and then dropped again, becoming a faint buzzing in the back of Draco's mind.

"What did you do?" Draco asked when Harry dropped his hands and stepped away. He cast a look at Draco, his cheeks slightly tainted as if he were embarrassed before he cleared his throat and looked away.

"We should keep moving."

"But-," Draco looked back at the castle. He could still feel the siren going off in his head, but now that it wasn't dominating his other senses, he could feel something else. A faint scent to the wind, a scent of death and darkness. He looked up and the customary shimmer that covered Hogwarts was gone. The wards had come down, that was why the sirens had sounded. He looked at Harry, eyes narrowing. Suddenly, the conversation he'd overheard made a lot more sense.

"You know what's going on," he said. Harry looked at him, dark green eyes unreadable. He didn't even have the decency to look ashamed about keeping something like this from Draco.

"We need to get to the clearing, Draco," Harry answered, holding his eyes as if that was truly all he had to say. "We can't stay here."

"No," Draco said, and this, at least, seemed to break Harry's control. He blinked at Draco, looking surprised for half a second before he turned his head, a sneer blooming across his face.

"Then stay here. I guess I'll hear what happened to the rogue werewolf in the morning, won't I?"

"Will you?"

"Yes," Harry answered, though neither of them moved. And it shouldn't have been hot, how Harry was standing there glaring off into the forest with the tight-fitting black robes that looked a lot like Severus'. It shouldn't have turned Draco on how Harry's black hair tangled across his scalp before falling across his face and looking as if Harry had cut it himself with one lopsided cutting curse. But somewhere, somehow it had started to and no matter how many times Harry rebuffed him, he couldn't seem to stop his body's reaction to the boy in front of him.

"Then why don't you just leave?" Draco breathed, stepping forward. He wanted to be closer to Harry. He wanted—Merlin, he just wanted. Harry's emerald eyes widened, snapped to Draco, and while Draco couldn't read the expression in them, he could read the lust. He knew Harry wanted him; he just didn't understand why he was denying them both the pleasure. And then Harry's hands were coming up and for one wonderful moment Draco thought Harry was going to touch him and-

Harry shoved Draco back, sending him stumbling back. He yelped, scrambling for purchase, but Harry was yanking away from him, letting Draco fall against the damp ground with a startled sound.

"Why do you keep _pushing_ me?" Harry snapped.

"Really nice, Potter," he scowled. Harry was unaffected, looking down at him with hate in his eyes. The kind of hate that made Draco turn his face away with a startled flinch.

"Let's just keep-," Potter started, cutting himself off abruptly.

"What?" Draco asked, still seated on the ground and examining his hands.

"Do you feel that?" Potter asked, his voice low and taunt. Draco was looking up at him before he could stop himself, startled by the look of fear that reflected deep in Harry's green eyes.

"What?" He asked again, but Harry wasn't listening anymore.

"They weren't supposed to come here," he said, his voice so quite Draco was sure he'd misheard. "They were supposed to go straight up into the castle, not into the forest."

"Who? What's going on?" Draco tried again, his voice soft, his own fear echoing around and mirroring Harry's. "Harry." The sound of his name seemed to shock Harry back to reality. His head jerked around, and he looked down at Draco, green eyes wide in a way Draco had never seen from Harry before. Had never expected to see.

"You were supposed to be safe here."

"Har-," Draco started again, but he was too late. Harry had his wand out before Draco finished the first syllable.

" _immobulus_ ," he chanted, quickly followed by a notice-me-not charm and then Harry was tapping Draco on the head, causing the feeling of raw eggs to run down his scalp and over his body, and he knew Potter had cast a disillusion spell on him.

He struggled to speak but Potter obviously didn't want him to because the freezing spell kept him firmly in place. Pity, he would have had some choice words right about now. But Potter was already turned away from him, casually holding wand against his leg and watching the forest around them as if waiting for something.

He didn't have to wait long. It started as a faint whooping and gradually grew into loud yelling and shouting. Draco renewed his struggle when he realized exactly what he was hearing.

They disarmed Harry first, sending his wand straight into Bellatrix's waiting hands. He didn't even fight it, just let his wand be taken and then let himself be forced to his knees by her shouted cruciatus curse. Draco tried to close his eyes, but the spell wouldn't even let him do that. He wondered vaguely if that had been Harry's intention though he supposed he couldn't have looked away if he really wanted to.

"Look what we have here?" Bellatrix purred, stepping up and stroking down Harry's face. He didn't even flinch away from her as he was wont to do with anyone else. Harry just stared up at her, his green eyes blank and dead, and Draco thought he might just throw up.

"Pathetic," Bellatrix said, pulling Harry to his feet by his hair. The other three Death Eaters shifted, and Draco could feel their amusement seeping across the cold ground.

"Well, worry not, Potter. My lord will be here shortly to look after you properly."

* * *

Severus felt he had waited a lifetime before Dumbledore opened the door to the astronomy tower. He looked immaculate, bright blue robes falling gracefully down his body and silvery hair nicely brushed. He looked better than Severus ever did, and he was marching toward his death. Severus couldn't help but wonder if he would ever have that much courage.

"Well," Dumbledore said, his voice was quiet and yet it still managed to echo around and drill into Severus. The old man had always managed to look down on him, to judge him for his mistakes. He had hated him for as long as he could remember. "This is it, Severus."

"So, it is," Severus answered. He raised his wand, slow. Probably too slow. It gave him too much time to think, too much time to regret. Dumbledore just looked at him, his eyes for once serious as he matched Severus in intensity. Severus hadn't even known Dumbledore could look like that. He hadn't known the old fool had it in him anymore.

"I…" Severus tightened his hand on his wand. "I never hated you."

"I know," Dumbledore answered, still smiling contentedly. He seemed to understand that Severus needed this. He needed to say this before he ended the man in from of him. "I never thought you did."

"I don't want to do this," he said quietly. Though he knew it didn't matter, it somehow it felt good to say.

"I know," Dumbledore answered, smiling quietly. "But it's time, Severus. You know it is."


	18. Choices

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucius saves the day. Almost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Torture, Death, References to rape

It took Voldemort an absurdly short amount of time to show up. Harry could tell he was excited; he had that same maniacal gleam in his eyes that he'd had when he'd first returned to life. Harry took one look at him and knew Voldemort had nothing good planned for him.

"Ah, Harry Potter," he said, his voice rasping across the space between them. Harry's lips twitched, looking back at him without hesitation. Voldemort thought he was so horrifying. He thought he was the worst thing that has ever happened to Harry. "It's been a long time."

"Not near long enough," Harry answered quietly.

"Oh, so you've grown a tongue, Harry Potter?" Voldemort asked. His red eyes narrowed, taking in Harry's amusement with dark anger. His reaction was almost worth what Harry knew was going to come next. "I was almost sure you were just going to sit there and stare at me like you did last time," he sneered, pacing closer to Harry.

His hand reached out, one pointed nail tracing along Harry's cheek. He could feel the blood begin to trickle down his face as the pain from Voldemort's nail became more and more intense. Harry just stared back, waiting for Voldemort to grow bored with his lack of reaction. Eventually, he did, withdrawing his fingers with an annoyed look; Voldemort was nothing if not predictable

"Was that all?" Harry asked. "I think my aunt could draw more blood than that."

Voldemort hissed, his hand sliding up and grasping Harry's hair. It yanked his head back, exposing his throat while Voldemort's other hand descended onto his hips, shoving away his robes and worming its way under his shirt. Harry shivered. Ice cold fear shooting through him, stabbing in his chest and worming its way up into his throat. He was almost surprised at his own reaction. The last time Voldemort had touched him, he'd been so numb at Cedric's death, he'd felt nothing. Nothing but cold and pain.

And now, he wanted nothing more than to scream and beg and plead and worm his way out of this. He was disgusted with himself for even thinking of it. He clamped his mouth shut; he wouldn't give Voldemort the satisfaction of being anything other than defiant. Voldemort's hands were freezing and greedy against his skin, his lips on his throat and then teeth, biting, drawing blood. He almost cried out when he felt the fingers reaching down his pants, tangling in the hair there and then pulling.

It _hurt_.

"Just kill me," he said, his voice coming out without his permission. "Please." And felt Draco shove against his magic, fighting to get free, but Harry was determined to ignore him.

"Kill you?" Voldemort answered, chuckling lightly against Harry's throat. "Now, why would I want to go and do a thing like that when I know it’s what you really want?" He laughed again, pulling his mouth away. Harry watched the string of spit and blood that clung to his mouth, connecting back to the wound on Harry's throat. He pulled his hand out of Harry's hair, raising his wand and opening his mouth to cast his cruciatus.

And Harry was screaming for a long time after that, and he could hear Voldemort laughing and Bellatrix cackling, and he was arching his back and there were tears in his eyes and—Then it was over. He gasped into the ground, closing his eyes to stop the wetness in his eyes from leaking out. It was funny, he had only cried once, one tear in front of Severus but it was as if the flood gates had opened. Every little thing that he'd never had to fight against, made him have to fight to keep the tears and the emotions from overwhelming him, and he was so sick of it.

He wondered what the fuck Draco had done to him. As if one cue, he felt a shove against his strength. Draco was fighting, fighting with everything he had, and Harry could only think how he deserved the pain that was shooting through him as the hope he'd told himself he'd never feel again, was smashed into oblivion. How had he ever let himself believe Draco could want him? Draco would never look at him again when this was over; he was sure of it.

"You're a coward, Harry Potter," Voldemort said. "You really don't know how to fight back, do you? You never-," Voldemort froze. It took Harry a long minute to realize what happened, and when he did, he laughed. Loudly.

The sirens around Hogwarts had stopped. Someone had raised the wards back up. He knew it couldn't have been Severus. Hell, Severus was relying on Harry to raise the wards back up before Voldemort got in. Funny, he had actually succeeded in part of the plan. He’d distracted Voldemort long enough to keep him from getting into Hogwarts, though he was reliably sure this wasn’t what Severus had in mind.

Harry laughed. In the back of his mind, he knew it wasn't sane laughter, but it came out of him anyway. It was so horribly funny. It was so horribly funny that Voldemort had refused to kill him and now he would lose because of it. Would it really have been so difficult to give Harry what he had wanted?

"You know what happened," Voldemort snapped, sticking his wand straight into Harry's face. Harry just smiled up at him.

"I have absolutely no idea."

"You're lying, Harry Potter."

"He's not lying," the voice rang out around them and even Voldemort froze. But then he supposed Lucius had always been like that. "I raised the wards."

"My Lord?" Bellatrix asked, and she was already twirling her wand between her fingers, stepping toward Lucius threateningly.

"He's mine," Voldemort answered.

It was over faster than it should have been. Lucius was a good fighter; Harry had never doubted that, but Lucius had forgot one very important detail. He was fight Lord Voldemort.

Voldemort smashed through Lucius' shield, hitting him with a powerful curse that cut across Lucius' skin. He recovered, but he was still dripping blood across the forest ground and he couldn't use his right hand anymore. Then it was a cruciatus and then another nasty hex that sent Lucius to the ground with loud scream. And then Voldemort was standing over Lucius casting a cruciatus just because he could.

It hurt in the pit of Harry's stomach to watch but every time he moved Bellatrix flicked her wand, and Harry just couldn't die by her hand.

"Lower the wards," Voldemort said, wand pointed at Lucius.

"No."

"He can't," Harry said. Voldemort hesitated, his face half turning.

"You lie."

"I'm not," Harry answered, lips twitching as he answered. "Only the headmaster can fully lower the wards, and McGonagall is the new headmistress" It was a lie. Of course, it was. Severus was the new headmaster, but Voldemort didn't know that, and he didn't need to.

"You little-," Voldemort turned toward him completely, a mad kind of anger flashing in his eyes. He was raising his wand to strike out at Harry, the curse already half-formed on his lips, but he never got his chance.

"What's going on here?" Severus' voice asked. He spoke softer than Lucius, and yet Voldemort was halted just as effectively. Harry was almost disappointed.

"Ah, Severus," Voldemort said, turning to face him. He lowered his wand, a sinister snakelike smile twisting across his face. "You're just in time."

Severus' eyes were locked on Lucius, on the blood seeping through his robes and the trembling of his limbs from the cruciatus curse. His eyes flicked over to Harry, to the nail marks on his cheek, the bite on his neck, and the rumpling of his shirt. "Oh, do ignore them, Severus," Voldemort said, flicking his wand dismissively. "We were just having a bit of fun." Harry blinked once, long and slow, and Severus looked away, his expression never changing.

"Of course, My Lord."

"I require one last task of you," Voldemort said, stepping around Harry and closer to Severus.

"Anything for you, My Lord," Severus answered. Harry almost flinched. He'd never thought he'd see the day Severus betrayed him, but he supposed it wasn't a surprise. It was never a surprise when someone let you down.

And then Severus was taking a step forward and his wand was out before even Voldemort could react. He flicked it once and Harry's and Lucius' were flying through the air and back into their hands. Harry wasted a heartbeat wondering just how he could have been stupid enough to think so little of Severus before he snapped to his feet and faced Voldemort.

In the back of his mind, he knew Severus and Lucius were dealing with the Death Eaters around him, but he kept his attention on Voldemort, advancing with slow careful steps. Voldemort raised his wand, casting a quick spell that Harry easily deflected.

"I'm not the coward, Tom," he said when he felt suitably close.

"You can't kill me, Harry Potter."

"I was never afraid of you," Harry answered. He stopped, holding his wand at arms-length before opening his hand and letting it drop to the ground. "And I was never afraid of losing." Voldemort stared at him, his wand lowering in shock as Harry continued to approach, open-handed and unarmed.

"Kill me, Tom," he said, stopping less than a foot away. "You know you want to."

"What are you playing at?" Voldemort asked. Harry just smiled, his hand reaching down and closing around Voldemort's wrist. It was disgusting, but he had never claimed to be clean. He just needed to do what needed to be done. He brought Voldemort's wand up, pressing it to his forehead, right on top of the lightening bolt scar.

"Tell me, how does death feel?"

He heard a strangled shout and knew Severus had seen him, but he could tell by the look in Voldemort's eyes that it was too late. He could hear Severus running, screaming. He could feel Draco fighting against him. Harry closed his eyes and relaxed against the rasping sound of Voldemort's voice.

"Avada Kadavra!"

* * *

The first thing Harry saw was light. Light and trees. It took him a long time to realize he was in his forest. The forest he had always gone to when he needed to escape.

"I never expected to see you here so soon," Dumbledore's voice echoed around the forest. Harry looked up; he supposed he should have been relieved. He wasn't in eternal turmoil or something equally horrible. He had almost expected to wake up on fire or something.

He was disappointed though. Somehow, he'd thought if he died, he'd never have to see Dumbledore again. He should have known he'd never be that lucky.

"Why's that?" he asked. "You're the one who told me I had to die."

"Yes," Dumbledore sighed. "I did. Though I suppose I always thought you'd have more time."

"Time was never something I wanted."

"No? Not even after you met a certain Malfoy?"

"What do you know about that?" Harry asked, turning his face away. Even in the after life he couldn't escape Dumbledore's lectures. How was that fairness?

"Oh, nothing, my boy," Dumbledore smiled, his eyes twinkling good naturally. Harry felt like throwing something, how could someone dead be so fucking cheerful? "You know you could always go back." Dumbledore said it so off handed, as if he were merely making a comment about the weather.

"Why would I want to go back?"

"It's a nice place you have," Dumbledore answered, ignore his question. As if he had never spoken at all. He began to pace away from Harry, circling around the small pace as if he were inspecting it. "To be honest, I expected someplace just a little darker." Harry just scowled at him, wondering what it would take to get the old coot to disappear. "I never knew you were an Animagus."

"Of course you did," Harry said. Dumbledore just smiled, his eyes twinkling with an affection Harry wasn't used to being directed toward him.

"You broke Draco Malfoy's heart, you know."

"What?"

"Draco Malfoy," Dumbledore said, smiling lightly as he touched a leaf. It dropped off its branch and landed lightly on the ground in front of him. "He's quite upset by your death. I don't think he was expecting it."

"And why would he care?"

"Why indeed?" Dumbledore answered. There was a long silence that Harry refused to fill and eventually, Dumbledore turned toward him completely. "So?"

"So, what?"

"Are you going back?" And for the first time, Harry had the feeling Dumbledore wasn't trying to trick him into anything.

"And if I don't want to?" Harry asked.

"Well," Dumbledore answered. "It's really up to you, though I really can't blame you if you'd rather stay." He looked around, his smile gentle in the filtering green light. "It's a nice place." His eyes landed back on Harry. "But I find myself compelled to warn you that this'll be your only chance, so do choose wisely, Harry."

* * *

Voldemort staggered away from Harry, almost losing his footing before seeming to recover himself. He looked around, taking in Severus, Lucius, and his disarmed Death Eaters before Disapparating away. And Draco couldn't even care.

Harry—no, Harry's body—was falling.

And Draco realized he could move, but it was somehow worse because that meant that Harry was—Harry was—

He was howling and shaking and stumbling his way over to Harry's—still warm—body and realized belatedly that he could just be sleeping. Just sleeping, he thought and when Lucius' head jerked over to him, he realized he'd spoken out loud. And he pressed his face into Harry's chest and felt the wet from his face sink into Harry's clothes and knew Harry would yell at him later but even that didn't stop the sob that ripped through him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mwahaha. The last chapter will be posted tomorrow along with the beginning of the sequel! Thank you for all your wonderfulness! :)


	19. The End

Harry opened his eyes to the setting sun and the sound of sobbing. There was something buried against his chest, making it impossible to sit up. When he looked down, he realized it was Draco.

"Holy Salazar," he heard the voice above him but couldn’t seem to make his eyes leave Draco's shaking form. "Severus," Lucius' voice spoke again. It wasn't very far away, but it wasn't close either, hovering somewhere between.

"Not now, Lucius," Severus answered. He sounded stuffed up, which Harry thought was odd considering Severus didn't have allergies, but he didn't waste much time thinking about it. He was still focused on Draco. Draco, who was still crying into his shirt. Draco, who obviously still believed he was dead.

And Harry supposed he had been dead. When he first opened his eyes, he had wondered if it was all just a dream. Maybe he would wake in his cupboard and Petunia would be screeching for him to come make breakfast, and Vernon would be eyeing him, and only now he would know what it meant. But no. No dreams for him. Funny how he didn’t seem to be disappointed.

"Severus," Lucius said. "Just look."

Harry ignored them. His hand was reaching down, an inch from Draco's silvery hair, a centimeter, and then finally tangling in the soft locks. His fingers slid through them easily, stroking Draco's scalp in a way that was somehow horribly pleasant for Harry. He'd never touched another person before, at least not like this. He'd never really wanted to. At least, not after Vernon. And he didn't know what he was doing now. Not just physically but with anything. He didn't know why he'd told Dumbledore he wanted to come back. He hadn't, not really. But he'd felt he couldn't not come back.

He heard a gasp, somewhere off to the left. There were shuffling of feet, and he knew Severus was approaching him, but it was nothing compared to the look on Draco's face when he raised his head and stared up at Harry. He was shocked, stunned, but it was more than that.

Dumbledore's words flashed through his head, 'you broke Draco Malfoy's heart, you know.' Harry hadn't understood—hadn't believed. He still didn't understand. He didn't understand how someone like Draco could care about him. How someone with life and fire could care about someone who had none left.

He didn't understand, but he couldn't help but believe. It was obvious that Draco cared. It was written all over his face in the tear tracks and the shaking of his shoulders, and Harry could do nothing but stare.

He had no idea what he was doing, but Draco's hands were against his face, and he was asking how, and Harry didn't have an answer, because he didn't really know how. And Harry's hands were still tangled in Draco's hair, and suddenly he didn't care that he didn't know. He just wanted. He just wanted it to all be real. He just wanted to not feel as if it was all a dream and the hope was soaring through him again, and Draco was so close to him, and would it really be so bad to just-

And then Draco was yanking away from him, shaking and yowling as if he were in pain. "I can't control-," he said, eyes flicking up to the rising moon. He took three steps back, turning on his heel and disappearing as the change overtook it.

Harry looked down at his hands as the hope came crashing back down, sending the horrible gut-wrenching pain spiraling through him as it always did. He still had strands of Draco's silvery hair tangled around his fingers, pulled out as Draco pulled away from him.

* * *

"He's doing better?" Lucius asked. He was sitting across from Severus, his legs crossed as he surveyed the office that used to be Dumbledore's. Severus didn't want to be in this office ever again, much less moving into it, but he knew he was next in line to be headmaster, and it wasn't as if he could ignore the office forever.

"Yes," Severus answered. "I'm still not sure how he came back, but he seems perfectly fine now. Not a bruise on him."

"He's not saying anything?"

"Of course not," Severus sighed. He flicked his wand, shrinking the rest of Dumbledore's knickknacks and sending them flying into a box and through the fire. "Nor will he say why he was so adamant about dying."

"Well, that part is no mystery."

"I suppose," Severus answered. He looked around the now empty office. He would probably have to move his things in soon, but he wasn't in the mood right now. Though if he was being honest with himself, he would never be in the mood. He would never understand why Dumbledore had insisted he become the new headmaster and not Minerva. But then, he would never understand half the things that went through the old fool's mind.

"I still feel as if I'm missing something," Severus said. "Harry was too deliberate in the way he had the Dark Lord kill him. It was as if..." he trailed off, frowning.

"What?"

"I'm not sure," Severus answered. "I might never be."

"You think it has something to do with Dumbledore?" Lucius asked, raising an eyebrow, and Severus could tell Lucius’ suspicions mirrored his own.

"Doesn't everything?"

"Hmm," Lucius answered. Severus was silent, surveying the office around him. "I've never seen Draco like that," Lucius finally spoke again.

"No, I've not either. Even after Harry came back, Draco couldn't stop crying."

"He still hasn't returned from his change. And I've barely seen Potter either."

"I know," Severus answered. He sighed, finally looking over at Lucius. He could tell by the other man's expression that he'd been waiting for Severus to do just this since beginning of the conversation.

"Well," Lucius stood, leaning his cane against his chair and stepping up to Severus. "Worry does them no good." Severus cast him a suspicious look, stepping away and retreating behind Dumbledore's desk.

This was the first time they'd been alone together—or together at all—since he'd told Lucius how he'd felt. He wasn't exactly sure how it happened, only that he was cleaning out Dumbledore's office and Lucius had come in and started talking. He supposed he was so busy thinking, he'd forgotten to use common sense.

"No," Severus answered. "I suppose, it doesn't."

"Severus," Lucius said, his voice was soft as he placed his hand on the desk and traced his way around, making his way closer to Severus. He watched with narrowed eyes, reminded just a little too much of when he'd been drunk, and Lucius had flirted and kissed and convinced him they'd had a chance.

"What are you doing?"

"You know what I'm doing," Lucius answered, and he stepped forward again. His hand was still on Dumbledore's desk, his other reaching out and taking hold of Severus' shoulder with a firm grip. Severus stared, refusing to respond to Lucius' advances but still unable to pull away.

"Lucius, no."

"And why not?"

"Because it would never work between us."

"Says who?" Lucius asked, one pale eyebrow raising slowly. Severus sighed, dropping his head and letting his greasy hair cover his face. He knew how Lucius got when he'd set his mind on something, and he knew Lucius wasn't dropping this anytime soon.

"Severus," Lucius' other hand left the desk, tilting Severus' head up to look at him. "Do you really not want this?" He hesitated, and though his face never lost its confidence, his voice gave him away. Soft and careful and utterly defenseless. "Tell me to leave, and I will. I'll leave, and I won't bother you again."

Severus stared at him, stared deep into Lucius' silver-grey eyes and wondered what exactly he thought he was doing. Surely, he knew that he didn't belong with someone like Severus. Surely, he knew he didn't want Severus. Whatever lingering attraction he'd held for him had to have been extinguished a long time ago, not to mention any affection.

This was only a need that Lucius had lost with his wife's death. He'd latched onto Severus because it was easier than dealing with the fact that his wife was dead.

"I-," Severus started. If he was smart—if he cared about either of their health—he would tell Lucius to leave. "I-," he tried again and then stopped abruptly, closing his eyes. He could save himself a lot of hurt when Lucius turned around and realized, when he changed him mind. It wasn't that Severus didn't know, it was just at the moment, he couldn't find it in himself to _care_.

"I don't want you to leave," he sighed. Lucius smiled, slow and sinful before yanking Severus toward him and lowering his head, blond hair falling down to shield both their faces.

* * *

Voldemort was seething, pacing across the floor. Nagini was by his side but it wasn't enough. It wasn't near enough. He wanted to know how the boy had known at all. He wanted to know how he'd known he was a Horcrux when Voldemort hadn't known. He hadn't known until he'd killed the piece of soul that had resided in Harry Potter.

He cursed. It had to have been Dumbledore. The meddlesome fool had to have told the boy. Harry Potter couldn't have been clever enough to know, to figure it out. He paced; he wanted the boy dead. He should have killed the boy when he had the chance. He wouldn't make the same mistake again.

* * *

Draco found Harry in the astronomy tower. It had been five days since his first change; he'd spent an extra-long time in the forest, trying desperately to come out but not being able to.

He'd known Harry was there too. He'd felt the eyes on him, caught sight of the green cat eyes in the dark, he remembered snaps of purring, and soft fur against his skin during his changes, but when he was in his human form the bobcat had never appeared out of the forest edge, and he had never approached.

But now, now he was ready. He was ready, and he was angry.

Harry didn't look up at him when he swung the door open. He just continued to stare out onto the grounds of Hogwarts, his head slightly bowed. He looked bad; he looked almost as bad as Draco felt. He'd lost weight—which seemed impossible considering he'd already been almost skin and bones—and the bags under his eyes reflected Draco's own.

"This is where he killed him," Harry said, making Draco come up short.

"What?"

"Dumbledore," Harry answered. "This is where he died. Right here in the astronomy tower." A chill went through Draco at the way he said it. "It makes me some terrible person that I'm not more disturbed, doesn't it?" Harry asked. It almost sounded as if he were reading Draco's thoughts. As if he really believed it about himself, but Draco didn't miss the way Harry had said 'more disturbed' as if he  _was_  disturbed by something.

"Why are you up here, Harry?"

"Why not?"

"Don't pull that shite with me," Draco snapped, and Harry looked up, green eyes startled as they locked with Draco's. But Draco was done. He was done being careful and considerate, and he wanted answers. He wanted answers that Harry was going to give him. He stepped forward, still several feet away and yet knowing he was a close as Harry could be comfortable with.

"Tell me the truth, Harry," he said. "I deserve it." And Harry stared at him for a long minute, seeming so open. All his emotions playing across his face in a way Draco had never seen before.

"I…" Harry cleared his throat, turning his face away. "I saw him... after I died. He was the one who sent me back."

"He-, that's why you're here? You're trying to understand?"

"Understand what?" Harry answered, turning away from Draco completely. He looked out over the ground again, the wind blowing his tangled raven hair into his eyes. "Why he seemed to genuinely help me in death when all he ever did was manipulate me in life?" Harry let out a bitter snort. "What's to understand about that?"

"I don't think anyone understood Dumbledore," Draco said, moving to stand at the railing beside Harry. He was still too far away, restraining the anger he could still feel bubbling beneath the surface.

"Hmm," Harry answered. There was silence for a long time, nothing but the sound of the wind in their ears. Eventually though, Draco couldn't take it anymore. The words Harry had said pounded through him, and he needed to know the truth. He needed to know.

"Did you know?"

"What?" Harry answered. He sounded defeated, uninterested, not bothering to look up, and Draco knew Harry already understood what he was asking.

"You said Dumbledore was the one who let you come back. Did you know you could come back?"

"Why does that matter?"

"Why does…?" Draco trailed off, staring. And then the anger broke in him. It broke and flew out of him with a strangled blast of magic that sailed through his skin. He knew Harry felt his wild magic, but he didn't bother to move. "Why wouldn't it matter? Why wouldn't the fact that you just walked up to Lord Voldemort and asked to die as if you didn't care whether you lived or died matter, huh? As if you-."

"Why do you care?" Harry's voice cut through Draco's, quiet and calm and Draco stopped, his anger draining out of him, leaving no trace to fuel the answer to the question that Harry had asked. The question that Harry deserved an answer to.

"I… I… I don't…"

"Look," Harry sighed, cutting his fumbling off. His voice was different now, closed off, untouchable, his eyes horribly unreadable. "I had my reasons, and I don't see how they were any of your business."

"Really? And is that why you refused to tell me the truth?"

"What truth?" Harry tensed. It was a warning. A warning Draco should have known to acknowledge by now, but he could feel Harry slipping out of his reach, and he was grasping with everything he had.

"You know what I'm talking about," he answered, stepping just a little too close to Harry. "You had plenty of chances to tell me and you didn't."

"Tell you what?" Harry answered, his voice deadly low, and when his dark green eyes flicked up to Draco's face, he shivered. "Tell you how the Dark Lord touched me? Tell you how he used me? Tell you how I let him? Tell you how I watched him kill the man I was in love with? Tell you have useless and dirty and pathetic I am, so you could judge me from your perfect life on your perfect pureblood pedestal?" Harry stepped even closer to Draco, his hands shoving Draco's shoulders with every word. "Is that what you wanted to hear, Draco Malfoy?"

"No…" Draco whispered, letting Harry push him one last time before watching him turn and begin to walk away. Draco stared after him, feeling stunned and useless. Harry was so used to pushing people away. He was so used to people letting him. Even Severus, who was the closest person to Harry, let Harry keep him at a distance. Draco watched Harry cross the floor and wondered how lonely Harry must be.

He started. He was thinking about everyone else letting Harry push them away, and yet, here he was, doing the same thing.

"No," He said, his voice louder than he had expected, and Harry immediately stopped, though he didn't turn. "No, you don't get to just walk away from me." Harry turned his head, looking over at Draco with unreadable green eyes.

"You don't get to just decide how everyone else feels because it's easier for you," Draco said, crossing the distance between them. Harry blinked as Draco advanced and then seemed to realize what Draco was doing. He scrambled back, almost tripping over his own feet.

"Do you have any idea how I felt when you immobilized me?" Draco asked, watching as Harry's back hit the wall. He kept advancing, his eyes holding Harry's wide green ones. He looked startled, shocked, afraid. But Draco could tell he wasn't afraid of him. At least, not exactly. "When I thought you'd died…" He trailed off, clearing his throat. But Harry was still staring at him, and he couldn't back out of this now. Not now that Harry was looking at him.

"Watching everything and not being able to do anything was torture. And the things Voldemort said to you; I wanted to kill him for even thinking about touching you," Harry inhaled sharply. His eyes were wide, shinning as if he were about to cry, but Draco knew that couldn't be true. Harry didn't cry.

"I didn't for a second think you were useless or dirty or pathetic," he said. "And don't you dare stand there and tell me what you think I want to hear," he leaned forward, resting his hand against the wall next to Harry's head and putting his face as close to Harry's as he dared. "So, why don't you stop pushing me away and give me a chance to prove it?"

There was a beat of terrible silence where Harry looked up at Draco—pressing himself as far up against the wall as he could get—as if he'd never seen anything like him, and Draco desperately hoped he had done the right thing. And then finally, Harry spoke, quietly, hesitantly, lips barely moving.

"Ok."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Check out the sequel, These Blooming Hearts.


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